


A Change of Perspective

by Goddess_of_the_Night



Series: Perspective [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Bit Mystery Science Theater 3000, Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Declarations Of Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Holmes and Watson think Sherlock and John are idiots, Idiots in Love, Jealous John, M/M, Meta, Mix of ACD Canon and BBC Canon, Mutual Pining, My Meta, Other People's Meta, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-03 03:43:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5275184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goddess_of_the_Night/pseuds/Goddess_of_the_Night
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a theory which states that whenever something is lost or misplaced (such as your keys), it has been transported to that same location in a different dimension. If it is not moved, after a time it will return to its proper dimension, which is why it is possible for you to find something in the exact spot you’ve already looked in and it will suddenly be there. The concept is a little fuzzy on what happens if the object is moved from the spot, but it is generally agreed upon that this is how possessions become lost forever.</p>
<p>This is the story of how 2015 Holmes and Watson come to watch their 2015 Sherlock and John counterparts, and learn things about their own relationship by watching Sherlock and John be idiots.</p>
<p>"Both men shudder at the memory of the discovery of the DVDs. Moriarty - as obsessed with Sherlock Holmes as he has been since childhood - had apparently been filming them since their very first meeting. How he even got some of the footage is unthinkable. Then, not only did he film them, but he created a bloody soundtrack and theme song, turned it in to some kind of creepy TV show. <em>Their lives</em>, a TV show."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock and John are BBC Canon.  
> Holmes and Watson are a mix of modern-day Sherlock and ACD Canon (many, if not all, of the variants in their timeline are taken directly from ACD Canon).
> 
> I attempted to summarize the episodes so you can easily imagine what part they're watching without having the episode playing (as I did while writing) or following a transcript while reading, but I also attempted not to OVER summarize. If you think there's too much BBC episode detail, please feel free to let me know and I'll see about minimizing it (or not enough...though the first few chapters skim a bit more than the later ones by purposeful design).
> 
> There are a lot of Meta nods in here; some of them are my own, but most of them are not. I certainly don't take credit for all of the little snippets of Meta you'll find, but I don't remember where I got most of them from. If you would like credit for your Meta that I quoted, let me know and I will gladly add it.
> 
> This was a commission piece from WRose who asked for: "A Sherlock story where the characters are watching the BBC Sherlock series." This, I think, grew incredibly out of their (or my initial) thoughtful proportions, but I hope it's to your liking! Sorry again that it took me nearly a month to get it done! I swear I worked on it near constantly in that time.

There is a theory which states that whenever something is lost or misplaced (such as your keys), it has been transported to that same location in a different dimension. If it is not moved, after a time it will return to its proper dimension, which is why it is possible for you to find something in the exact spot you’ve already looked in and it will suddenly be there. The concept is a little fuzzy on what happens if the object is moved from the spot, but it is generally agreed upon that this is how possessions become lost forever.

“Sherlock, what did you do with the DVDs?” John calls to him in frustration, still looking around the living room.

“Why would I have touched them?” Comes the indignant reply from the bathroom, “You know they offend me.”

“Yeah, they _should_ offend you; they’re bloody stalker footage. But our lawyer is going to kill us if we lost this case evidence.”

Both men shudder at the memory of the discovery of the DVDs. Moriarty - as obsessed with Sherlock Holmes as he has been since childhood - had apparently been filming them since their very first meeting. How he even got some of the footage is unthinkable. Then, not only did he film them, but he created a bloody soundtrack and theme song, turned it in to some kind of creepy TV show. _Their lives_ , a TV show.

The videos - presented as three separate series - were discovered in Moriarty’s possession once Sherlock and the government had finally caught up to him. It saved Sherlock from going on the probable suicide mission and leaving John, but at what emotional cost? Mary has been indicted as an accomplice to Moriarty and the baby has been proven to be his, not John’s. So a newly single John is back in 221B, but again: at what cost?

Sherlock finally exits the bathroom and comes to the living room, “It’s not like they’re the originals; they’re not completely inept.”

John shoots a glare at him, “Yes, but it’s still evidence and it can’t be a good thing for it to be lost. Will you just help me look?”

Sherlock performs a suffering sigh, “Last I saw them, they were on the coffee table.”

“No shit, Sherlock; that’s the first place I looked.”

Sherlock’s offended face makes John laugh without meaning to.

“Look, I’m sorry,” John composes himself, “it’s just that we’re meeting with the lawyer in an hour and were supposed to bring these back.”

They continue to search for the discs but are unsuccessful, and they begrudgingly head to their berating half an hour later.

———

Around the same time, Watson - in an alternate 2015 dimension - returns to 221B with Tesco bags in hand.

After placing the groceries away, he makes a cup of tea before heading towards the sofa to read the paper. The stack of three DVD cases with “Sherlock” emblazoned on them catch his eye, causing his eyebrows to lift in surprise.

“Holmes,” he calls to the bathroom where he knows the man to be, “what the hell are these?” he asks as he lifts the first one off of the pile to inspect it. It appears to be an official release TV show, with their pictures on the front and back.

Well, slightly different pictures of them. Sherlock appears to have wild curls while his Holmes tames them in to submission with a bit of product, and John appears to be clean-shaven while he himself has a full, close-cut beard from not shaving for a few days. But other than that, the resemblance is striking.

“Am I supposed to actually know what you’re referring to from this far away?” Holmes shouts back around the toothpaste in his mouth.

Watson performs a suffering sigh, “These DVDs with your name on it.”

“What?” Comes the confused response, then the sound of running water.

Watson is engrossed in reading the back of the case with his eyebrows drawn together in confusion when the other man enters.

“What are you on about?” Holmes asks, his irritation tinged with confusion.

Watson merely moves his head and arm towards him so he can see the front as he finishes reading the back.

“What _is_ that?” Holmes asks in mild horror.

“It appears to be a TV show about us and our cases,” Watson answers, still incredibly confused.

The younger man moves to the couch and sits down, eyeing the case with unease, “That’s preposterous.”

“No,” Watson says, dragging out the vowel, “just improbable and nonsensical.”

Holmes grabs the case from the other man’s hand, to which Watson rolls his eyes without comment before reaching down to grab the next case. They read in silence for long minutes before speaking again.

Watson falls gracelessly on to the couch, slouching in bewilderment and unable to wrap his brain around this situation.

“Holmes, what _is_ this?” he parrots back quietly.

“I have no idea,” he admits back, sounding equally unsettled.

“Do we…” Watson starts, but has to take a moment to breathe and swallow before continuing, “watch them?”

Holmes turns to him in shock, “ _Watch them?_ ”

Watson turns to glare at him defensively, “Well, why not? What better way to understand the situation than to observe the evidence?”

Holmes tilts his head in a considering pose before answering, “What if it…God, that sounds idiotic.”

“What?” Watson urges.

Holmes gives him a _‘I can’t believe you’re going to make me sound psychotic’_ look of disdain before speaking, “What if it alters the future?”

Watson holds it together for a solid three seconds before he begins laughing heartily.

“Watson,” he admonishes in a slightly embarrassed tone, causing the other man to slowly right himself.

“I’m sorry, but,” he chuckles again, smile holding strong, “did you just say you think that watching these DVDs would mess with the space-time continuum?” He finishes, looking as though nothing in the world has ever been funnier to him.

“Why is that so funny?” Holmes asks in defensive confusion.

“Because,” he’s still chuckling, but they’re fewer and farther between now, “it sounds too science fiction for your literal brain to be considering, that’s all.”

“An Einstein theory is _not_ science fiction.”

“I know, I know,” Watson finally calms down completely and looks at the back of the third case, “This says it was released in 2014, which has already happened. It can’t change the past, can it?” He finishes seriously.

Holmes just stares at him for a few long seconds before replying, “I don’t know.”

They stare at each other and then the DVDs.

“Well, I say we watch them. Aren’t you intrigued?” Watson asks.

“Of course I am, but…” he trails off uncertainly.

“We can always stop any time we want.”

“I feel as though those could be your famous last words,” Holmes teases.

“Have to be famous for that to happen,” Watson smiles.

Holmes points to the DVDs and says, “You just might be.”

With that ominous thought in place, Watson puts the first DVD in the player and they settle in for an experience they are not nearly prepared for.


	2. A Study in Pink

The first episode starts so suddenly with John having a nightmare in his bedsit. Both men cringe, Watson because of the reminder of how horrible and frequently they used to occur, Holmes because – while he clearly is aware that his PTSD used to be worse than it currently is – he has never seen a depiction such as this.

It only gets weirder from there.

“Theme song. There’s a theme song,” Holmes points out needlessly.

“Well, it’s a TV show, isn’t it?”

“Are you not weirded out by this? I mean, that man looks _exactly_ like a clean-shaven version of you.”

“I…yeah,” he admits, “I still don’t understand what this is. Is it a documentary of sorts? Is this based off my blog?”

“I was under the impression we were watching these to find that answer.”

The theme song ends and the case begins.

“Ah, _A Study in Scarlet_ I think you called this one,” Holmes states pompously to which Watson merely rolls his eyes. A minute later, however, Holmes continues indignantly, “A Study in _Pink_? What, was _Scarlet_ too sophisticated a color? Too many letters? Do you think they’re even aware that pink and scarlet are not synonymous?”

Watson takes secret enjoyment from this outburst, seeing as how Holmes typically belittles any title he gives their case write-ups.

“This is so twisted,” Watson says towards the end of a scene where a familiar Lestrade and Donovan are holding a press conference regarding the killer. Holmes merely hums in agreement.

“Oh yes, the riding crop experiment,” Holmes smiles fondly, “that yielded a lot of good information for future cases, as well as this one.”

Watson laughs, “What other case have you used your riding crop database for?”

Holmes’ smile turns into a mischievous smirk, “None yet.”

They smile at each other until the scene changes and they watch Sherlock and John’s first meeting play out before their eyes. It’s an uncanny depiction, unfolding precisely the way their own first meeting went, Mike Stamford, St. Bart’s, and all.

Watson shifts uncomfortably on the couch once more, an eerie feeling of being watched creeping over him, “Holmes, what the hell is this?”

“I still don’t know,” he admits, his unease also increasing significantly.

“How do they know this? How could they possibly…” He can’t finish the frightening thought, but Holmes picks it up.

“Get every little detail right?”

There’s no answer for it, so they simply watch in rapt trepidation, no words exchanged for many minutes.

“You didn’t ask me to call you Sherlock,” Watson observes next as John gets out of the car to meet Sherlock at 221B.

“I didn’t ask you to call me ‘Holmes’, either; it just felt natural to go by our last names, didn’t it?”

“Extremely,” he agrees.

“And really, ‘Holmes and Watson’ sounds classier than ‘Sherlock and John’.”

Watson looks at him with mirth, “We live in a flat owned by a woman who paradoxically claims not to be our housekeeper but spends every interaction acting like she is, we deal with dead bodies on an alarmingly regular basis, we order in most of our meals, and you often wander around the flat in nothing but a bed sheet. Tell me again how classy we are?”

“It’s about _pride,_ Watson, honestly,” he feigns haughtiness but his small smirk gives him away.

They watch Sherlock spruce up the apartment after John makes an off-handed comment about the clutter. They watch Sherlock celebrate another murder – not an uncommon thing for Holmes to do – before waltzing out the door.

“Husband?!” Watson asks, looking offended, “Why does Mrs. Hudson assume we’re gay?”

“ _That_ Mrs. Hudson assumes _Sherlock and John_ are gay,” Holmes stresses, then adds lightly, “ _our_ Mrs. Hudson simply thinks it, but never vocalizes it.”

“What? She does?” He looks honestly thrown by that.

Holmes nods sagely, nodding to the telly, “Since day one, just like this portrays.”

“Bloody hell,” he grumbles refusing to say more.

They both laugh at Sherlock’s deduction about Donovan and Anderson once they reach the crime scene, but then Holmes gasps.

“That building…that room.”

“How did they get in to the actual murder site to film about the actual murder?” Watson asks, but knows – just as with the few times before already – that there is no answer to be had.

“Sherlock left him at the crime scene?” Watson asks, offended for John.

The longer they watch, the easier it is for them to disassociate with the characters being portrayed on screen; there are enough differences to accomplish it successfully.

“And you thought _I_ was bad,” Holmes answers.

They watch as John limps his way to find a cab, phones ringing as he passes them. When a black car pulls up to take John to see Mycroft, Watson can’t help but chuckle.

“Well at least Mycroft is just as set on being mysterious as ours is.”

“I do not insist on being mysterious,” comes the pompous, slightly offended reply from the doorway.

Both men turn in surprise, having been so caught up in the show that they didn’t hear his entrance.

“I was hoping that I had been wrong; that you wouldn’t succumb to the temptation to watch these DVDs,” Mycroft continues while grabbing the DVD remote and pausing the episode on John and other Mycroft talking in the warehouse to ensure that he has their full attention.

“You know about them?” Watson asks in shock.

“We detected a significant disturbance within your premises and our surveillance told us what we needed to know.”

“You _detected_ a disturbance? How?” Watson continues asking, because Holmes seems fairly unsurprised by the news.

“The government has its ways,” Mycroft says cryptically.

“Some sort of conspiracy?”

“Oh, nothing like that. Don’t be so common, Watson; you’re better than that,” he says with an air of genuine disappointment.

That stops his line of questioning, caught off guard by the unexpected praise.

“Where did the DVDs come from?” Holmes asks.

Mycroft sighs before turning Holmes’ chair to face them and sitting down, “As far as we can tell, they’re from an alternate 2015.”

“I’m sorry, a what?” Watson asks.

“There is proof - well guarded, mind you - of multiple dimensions existing at once, having branched off from each other at different points.”

“Alright, let’s just assume that your Sci-Fi story is true,” Holmes says.

“It is,” Mycroft asserts calmly.

“You’re telling us that these are from…another version of ourselves in another dimension?”

“From what I’ve gathered, it is just a small piece of evidence in a case against the Moriarty of their time, a section of the case dealing with his stalking of their Sherlock Holmes.”

Both men flinch at the memory of Moriarty and all of the hardships they endured because of him.

“He’s still alive there?” Holmes asks in horror.

“Yes, he is.”

“But ours dead, isn’t he?” Watson asks with trepidation.

“Without question,” both Holmes brothers reply in tandem, to which Watson nods in relief.

“Now, I know it will matter little to you both, but I do not condone you continuing to watch these DVDs,” Mycroft says as he stands up and straightens his suit.

“You’re right: it matters little,” Holmes confirms.

Watson merely rolls his eyes and asks legitimately, “And why is that?”

Mycroft turns in the doorway, never being able to resist a touch of the dramatic, “You have no idea how this could change things.”

And with that he’s gone, leaving Holmes and Watson to exchange confused looks before laughing.

“Shall we continue, then?” Holmes asks as he grabs the remote and pushes play a second after Watson agrees.

They watch in amusement as John refuses to help Mycroft, Sherlock’s own brother joining in on implying that they might be gay, and Anthea blatantly turning down John’s advances in the car. When John enters 221B, Watson speaks again.

“Ah-ha! Sherlock has stopped smoking, why can’t you manage to do it?”

“He managed it by placing what is surely an unhealthy number of nicotine patches on his skin. Would you rather I tried that?”

“Just one patch at a time, please,” Watson admonishes.

“Then intermittent cigarettes it is,” He smiles triumphantly, to which Watson merely gives a half-hearted glare.

They watch as John has what seems like his first conversation with what they would both consider to be the real Sherlock, with his outlandish demands and making John text a murderer without so much as an explanation first.

“John isn’t even questioning Sherlock, why is that?” Holmes asks curiously, not looking from the telly.

“If he’s anything like me, he’s trusted Sherlock since the moment they met.”

Holmes looks towards Watson briefly in shock before turning back to the telly with a contemplative, “Hmm.”

Then there’s the scene at Angelo’s.

“Why does _everyone_ keep insinuating that they’re gay?” Watson asks, cheeks flushing a bit in second-hand embarrassment.

“Maybe they _are_ ,” Holmes says, looking completely unfazed at the prospect.

 **“Do you have a boyfriend? Which is fine, by the way.”**  
**“I know it’s fine.”**  
**“So you’ve got a boyfriend, then.”**  
**“No.”**  
**“Right. Okay. You’re unattached. Like me. Fine. Good”**  
**“John, I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work and while I’m flattered by your interest, I’m really not looking for any…”**  
**“No, no, I’m not…asking. No.”**

Watson groans and buries his face in his hands. Watching – essentially – himself get turned down flat by two people, one man and one woman, in the span of 20 minutes is just too embarrassing. The point that the male also happens to be his best friend that he has, in fact, been slowly falling in love with over the course of their friendship does not make it any easier to watch.

Holmes merely glances over at Watson and can’t help but laugh at his reaction to the scene, feeling a bit smug. Truthfully, he also considers himself married to the work as Sherlock does, but over the years he has found Watson becoming more important than that. If he has to be in love with someone, there’s no one else it could be but him, really, and he’s content in that knowledge.

The scene moves swiftly on to the taxi sitting outside the address, and Watson finally uncovers his face.

“Well, at least we didn’t go through that,” he says lightly, smiling sheepishly at his friend next to him.

“Small mercies,” Holmes agrees with a smile.

They enjoy watching the portrayal of the chase of the cab, the laughter as they return to 221B, and then the fake drugs bust.

After watching Sherlock and John’s intense non-verbal communication, Holmes speaks up again.

“You stood up for me, too,” he says quietly.

“Of course I did,” Watson replies equally as quiet, as though the answer was obvious, neither of them looking at each other.

“We had just met.”

“But look at all we had been through already; how much you had changed my life in such a short amount of time. This may not be us – what with Sherlock’s disheveled hair and John’s baby face – but this is very close to our beginning, too.”

Holmes turns to look at Watson’s face, but the older man does not return the gesture, simply stares resolutely at the screen. They watch as Sherlock asks John what he’d say if he were dying, the genuine – if quick - look of regret afterwards, Sherlock’s belittling of an entire room as he explains his findings, and then as he follows the murderer out of the flat without so much as a code word to anyone.

“I still can’t believe you followed him without telling me,” Watson says, the scenario exactly the same as they experienced.

“I state again for the record: we had just met. I wasn’t entirely certain I could trust you yet, or how much you wanted to be involved.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Shhhh,” Holmes cuts him off, feeling something different about what’s playing out but he can’t yet put his finger on it.

The cabbie drives them to the school, but he did have to lead Holmes in by gunpoint. Then the bottles appear.

“A good pill and a bad pill laid out like it’s The Princess Bride?” Holmes asks in outrage.

“Didn’t he simply have a good pill and a bad pill in a tin and force you to choose one?” Watson asks, wracking his memory for the details he had later shared on his blog.

“Yes, there was no skill to it like this shows, he was merely hoping for fate to keep him safe. It worked many times before, and I am glad you came along for me.”

“Well, I had no idea what had been happening since you ran off and left me, I just knew I couldn’t let you take that pill.”

“I do think about it sometimes,” Holmes whispers, unsure why he’s admitting to it, “which pill it was and if I would have died that night.”

There’s a lengthy pause as they watch the scene play out before Watson admits in his own whisper, “Me too.”

They watch the last scene with lighter hearts as Sherlock and John interact the same way they do, giggling at crime scenes and all.

When the end credits roll, they both stretch a little.

“If this really is stalker evidence in a case, that would imply that all of this footage is real, not acted,” Holmes says with a crease to his brow, signifying that he’s attempting to figure out a puzzle.

“Yes,” Watson agrees.

“Then why are there credits as though it were a legitimate TV show?”

“Well,” Watson says slowly after a time, “maybe Moriarty was trying to sell it off as one, or thought it was less suspicious this way.”

“That man is completely psychotic, and I feel extremely fortunate that he is no longer a factor in our lives.”

“Agreed. Poor Sherlock and John,” he says with genuine pity.

After a few minutes of silence, Sherlock grabs the remote and selects the next episode with a heavy sigh.


	3. The Blind Banker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I regret how obvious it is that The Blind Banker is my least favorite episode. I skimped a bit on this one, and for that I apologize. They definitely become more detailed after this one, I promise.

“Alright, but if it’s stalker footage, then why are these clients and random people who aren’t Sherlock and John so prevalent?” Watson asks.

“It’s a good question…just part of the creative process for Moriarty?”

“God, he’s such a creepy man!”

“Hmm, yes,” Holmes hums in agreement.

“Oh, _The Blind Banker_? This one wasn’t even _interesting_. Also, not too fond of being reminded of Sebastian’s existence,” Watson bemoans. Sebastian, with his cocky attitude and looking down on Holmes always set him on edge. Same as he does now as they’re watching the “episode” play out.

“He always was a bit of a twat,” Holmes states with a smirk.

They watch quietly as things unfold, until Sherlock and John reach Van Coon’s residence.

“Sherlock is a bit of an actor, just like you,” Watson laughs at Sherlock’s sudden change in demeanor as he talks himself in to the building via a neighbor to the victim.

“Obviously,” Holmes sniffs, “it’s a very important part of the work.”

They try to fight boredom as they continue to watch, then John is applying for work at the surgery.

“Good God,” Holmes intones with distaste, “is John going to flirt with _everyone_ he meets, then?”

“He’s not flirting, he’s just being friendly!” Watson argues.

“No, he’s not,” Holmes says in a way which ends that particular debate.

“Well, _I_ never flirted with her,” Watson says in his own defense.

“Are you quite certain?” He challenges him.

“Yes, because by the time I got the job at the surgery, I was already dating Mary,” he says before he can even think it through.

The words stop them both in their tracks as they remember their own timeline clearly. They had met Mary on one of their first cases as they helped her find some old family gold. Turns out there was none to be found, so Watson had asked her out shortly after since he wouldn’t come across as an opportunistic gold digger.

Holmes clears his throat uneasily, “Yes, that’s right. I had forgotten. My apologies.”

“It’s alright,” Watson assures honestly, but they return to silence after that.

They arrive at the scene where Sherlock breaks in to Soo Lin Yao’s flat before Holmes speaks again.

“Ugh,” he grunts in aggravation, “how many signs that I wasn’t alone did I overlook before I realized? They’re so obvious!” He had, in fact, overlooked all of them and gotten in to an altercation, just as Sherlock did.

“Well, at least you learned not to keep leaving me outside of situations like this. There’s that bright side.”

Raz leads them to the skate park. They wander nearby looking for clues; on walls, in the tube, and then finally John finds a large clue on a brick wall. It’s gone by the time John is able to bring Sherlock to it, and then Sherlock grabs John to help him remember the pattern, whatever good he thinks that will do. Then John pulls out his phone and shows him the picture he took.

Holmes chuckles, “John is occasionally as clever as you are, but not always.”

“What makes you think he isn’t always just as clever?”

“Because Sherlock doesn’t trust him to be, and I always did. You had proven it from the start.”

Watson can’t think of anything to say to that, but the feelings of pride and adoration swell within him.

“Are they really cataloguing each book by hand?” Watson asks a bit later as Sherlock and John begin going through the book collections of Van Coon and Lukis.

“Another example of you being cleverer than John; your idea of inputting all of Van Coon’s books in to a database on the computer and then using that to compare Lukis’ books to find overlapping ones was life-changing. There’s no way we could have gone through all those by hand and figured it out in time.”

Watson smiles, shaking his head, “I was just being lazy, really.”

“A Chinese circus? That’s just ridiculous!” Holmes sounds almost offended at the idea.

“Yeah, way more ridiculous than you crashing my date with Mary at the cinema,” Watson chuckles sarcastically with an eye roll.

“You were going to see _The King’s Speech_ which I had been interested in viewing,” he reasons.

“You spent the entire time pointing out the historical inaccuracies.”

“Yes, I had a great time, didn’t you?” He asks with genuine glee.

Watson laughs before turning back to the telly.

“Oh, looks like Sherlock isn’t too keen on Sarah,” Watson points out.

“She’s asking inane questions and imposing her presence on him all while distracting John from the work, of _course_ he’s not too keen on her.”

Watson is silent for a few seconds before he looks down at his hands and asks quietly, “Is that how you felt about Mary?”

Holmes gets that rare look of regret in his eyes as he looks over at his friend, “No,” he says gently, “she wasn’t like that. She never tried to get involved with our work and never stopped you from coming when I called. I very much appreciated her for that.”

Watson nods and glances up at him, trying for a smile but it doesn’t reach his eyes, “She knew how important it was to the both of us, not to mention to the clients.”

Holmes debates what to say next. He’s voiced regret for Mary’s passing before and he knows how much it still hurts John even after the time that’s passed, but… “Watson,” he starts uncertainly.

“Holmes, don’t,” he looks at him, so vulnerable in his pain, “Please just…don’t.”

“Alright,” he concedes, turning his face back to the telly, though his attention takes a bit longer to get there.

They watch as John gets hit in the head, Sherlock finding the spray-painted message, John waking up in a dark location.

“Kidnapped. Of course,” Watson says, attempting to lighten the mood, “No wonder this warranted an ‘episode’ then.”

“Yes, ours lacked all of this excitement with guns and circuses.”

The longer the scene goes on with the Chinese, the more they disassociate with Sherlock and John.

“This is preposterous,” Holmes spits out as Sherlock shows up, “this is akin to those bloody Bond movies you enjoy making me watch.”

“Those are great films, Holmes; classics,” Watson defends.

“But not for real-life scenarios,” he says just before John says something that he dwells on, “ _Next date_? After all that, John thinks she’s crazy enough to do it again? Only a maniac would come back for more.”

“Well, it’s never put _me_ off of rejoining _you_ ,” Watson smirks.

“Yes, well,” Holmes smirks, eyes alight with mirth, “no one’s ever claimed that we were the poster children for typical thought processes.”

Watson laughs outright at that, “No,” he concedes, “no they haven’t.”

They watch as the “episode” comes to a close, Moriarty being hinted as being behind the entire thing, which they of course already knew.

“Well, I must say that that one was slightly disappointing,” Holmes says, lifting the remote from the table once more and navigating them back to the main menu.

“More exciting than our version but, yes, overall I would have to agree,” he responds, standing up to place the second disc in the player once they discover that there are only two “episodes” on the first one.

They both try to think of which will be the next of their cases to come up, completely unaware of the emotional trauma caused by the reminder that they’re in for.


	4. The Great Game

The opening scene of the third “episode” starts with something that didn’t transpire in their dimension.

“Oh my God,” Watson laughs, “that is you to a T.”

“What, correcting grammar left and right and refusing to assist a murderer to get off of a legitimate charge?”

“Yeah, to be a pompous dick about it before walking off all coolly.”

“You think I walk off coolly?” Holmes asks, sounding as though he’s preening under the praise.

“Unbelievable,” Watson says on another laugh, “I call you a pompous dick and all you take away from the sentence is that you look cool?”

“Plenty of people have pointed out the dick part, and much worse besides, but no one has ever said I look cool.”

Watson’s face falls. After all these years together and all they’ve been through one would think there’d be no surprises, but that’s simply not the case. Holmes goes through so much of his life putting forth a cold persona for the world that the tiny cracks of humanity that he shows Watson take his breath away each and every time.

“Holmes,” he begins in a quiet, saddened tone, but the younger man cuts him off before he can continue further.

“Oh, Watson, please don’t talk to me in that tone of voice.”

“What tone? It’s my normal tone,” he argues, forgetting a bit of his empathy from moments previous.

“No, it’s your sympathetic doctor tone, and it’s completely unwarranted.”

“I really don’t think…” he starts, but is cut off once again.

“Look! Sherlock leaves body parts in the fridge, as well!” He points out excitedly, as though this vindicates his own actions.

“Lucky John! It is a bit comforting for me to know that it’s not just me who puts up with the Crazy Holmes genes in any dimension; your mind is a universal John Watson issue,” he jokes lightly to which Holmes merely glares, then continues a few second later, “Do _you_ know that the Earth goes around the Sun?” He asks honestly.

“Oh hell, what does that _matter_?” Holmes asks defensively, just as Sherlock does a few seconds afterward. Watson smirks in triumph, as if that proves some sort of point.

“Are you going to pout like Sherlock now?”

“No,” Holmes says in a petulant voice as he crosses his arms and sinks further in to the couch in a very definite pout.

“Alright,” Watson says in a patronizing tone but leaves it from there.

“What the bloody hell was _that_?” Holmes asks, sitting up straight again as the windows are blown from the flat on the screen.

“Well that’s certainly different,” Watson says in a bit of a daze, not wanting to admit to his racing heart born from not knowing if Holmes… _Sherlock_ is alright.

They both watch in silence as John is, yet again, shot down by a suitor as Sarah all but tells him that she will never sleep with him. Neither has the good humor to comment on it, though, anxious to return to Baker Street.

They release a relieved breath in tandem when Sherlock and Mycroft appear on screen.

“He’s fine,” Holmes breathes out, relaxing again in to the couch as though exhausted.

“The explosion must have been karma for his unwarranted strop,” Watson tries to lighten the mood, but Holmes merely hums in acknowledgement of the words.

Mycroft explains the West case, Holmes and Watson watch in amusement as John and Sherlock undermine him in the smallest of ways to annoy him, and they head out to a case with Greg which is familiar to them.

“ _The Five Pips_ ,” Watson says with a bit of trepidation.

“Oh, God,” Holmes whispers, wiping his mouth with his hand as if to rid it of a foul taste, which, to be fair, is entirely possible considering the memory the title brings.

“The pool,” Watson whispers himself, covering his face with his hands.

“The vest,” is Holmes’ quiet response.

Sherlock and John make their way back to Baker Street, flat 221C, and find the sneakers of Carl Powers.

Watson shifts uneasily on the couch, “Not sure I can do this one, Holmes,” he admits.

“I’m invested now,” Holmes says in reply.

“I never said you had to stop.”

Holmes turns to him on the couch and honestly begs, “Please don’t make me do this alone.”

Watson’s face is an interesting mix of frustration, trepidation, and resolve, “Alright,” he finally agrees quietly and they turn back to the telly.

The woman in the car, strapped to the vest and speaking for Moriarty. Watson shifts again upon seeing the vest that he knows he’ll see on himself in too short a while. The gut instinct to turn away, driven by all of the mental trauma induced by Moriarty throughout their dealings with him, is powerful. It took years for Watson to stop dreaming of the incident at the pool and how it could easily have turned out for the worse, and he’s not honestly sure he can see it from this third-person perspective, even with Holmes begging him to.

Holmes, however, is equally unsettled and unsure about actually watching the scene play out where one small difference could have meant their lives. They nearly died together - willingly - that night. He takes in a shuddering breath as he continues to watch Sherlock work out the pieces.

Both men flinch unconsciously as Moriarty enters the lab in disguise, or lack-thereof.

“I should have known it then,” Holmes berates himself.

Watson shakes his head and placates him, “No need to have guessed it. What kind of cock-sure maniac _introduces himself_ to the man he’s threatening? He didn’t even change his name!”

“He thought he was clever; too clever to get caught. Unfortunately he was right.”

“Stop beating yourself up,” he says, then in a fresh attempt to lighten the mood, he points out, “Well, at least John isn’t the only one dealing with others assuming he’s gay.”

Holmes’ lips quirk up despite himself, “Yes, but Moriarty _was_ gay; at least, _ours_ was.”

“Really?” Watson asks in shock.

“Minds like mine and his? He was attempting to seduce me with the puzzles.”

Watson can’t help the flare of jealousy in his gut at the thought, then tamps it down because the man is dead, dammit!

“Well, thank God you’re above all that wooing.”

“From him? There was no question.”

“What…?” Watson starts to ask, but Holmes redirects his attention back to the telly suddenly.

“Ah, John Watson: so easily manipulated in every dimension,” he says with a smirk.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Watson asks, offended.

“All one has to do is mention that someone is in danger or that it’s of national security and they’ve got your full attention.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry that I care about people unlike your cold machine of a heart,” he bites back defensively.

“Caring is not an advantage,” he quotes his age-old family saying.

“You’re right, sometimes it’s not, but that doesn’t make it any less worth doing.”

Holmes stares at him calculatingly, as though doing the math on the statement before turning away again.

John is in Mycroft’s office, learning all the details of the case Sherlock has sweet-talked him in to taking with one small compliment about being his best man.

“You really solved this one without so much as looking at the case file?” Watson asks.

“Don’t be absurd, of course I looked at the case file.”

“When?”

“When you were asleep the night we got it. Very simple, don’t know why Mycroft even required our assistance.”

Sherlock solves the Powers case that has plagued at least a portion of his brain since childhood. They rescue the woman from the car. Four pips and a new picture of a car later, they’re moving in to the second case of the debacle.

Second vest, a man standing in the street. An abandoned area, abandoned car, and a seemingly distraught wife.

“This was one of my favorite bits of acting I’ve done,” Holmes recalls with a fond smile.

“I can hardly believe how quickly you can turn in to someone else entirely,” Watson admits with admiration.

“I love how simple some people are; loving to correct information, even when they don’t wish to share it.”

They watch, Holmes with rapt attention and Watson with amusement at his friend’s antics.

“And then the one glistening tear,” Holmes says with pride, as though he just watched himself score a goal in football.

“And the next second back to your old self,” Watson laughs, “You’re a bloody narcissist, you are,” he adds good-naturedly.

“Thank you,” Holmes smiles.

“Not actually a compliment,” he admonishes, but is still smiling.

To the car dealership with the man who reminds Watson intensely of Sebastian again. Something about smug, greasy, untrustworthy people has always rubbed him the wrong way. They leave there and Sherlock does some experimenting until the phone rings again.

**“We were made for each other, Sherlock.”**

“See? Seduction,” Holmes points out.

“Good of you to notice,” Watson huffs out, the sting of jealousy returning slightly.

Sherlock solves the car case and they rescue the man from the street. John eats as he and Sherlock discuss the ordeal they’re in in a cafe. They get the text about TV personality Connie Prince’s death, then the old woman comes on screen, causing both men to stiffen as they remember that this one isn’t saved.

Sherlock and John visit Prince’s body in the morgue. Sherlock and Greg attempt to find a connection to no avail. John shows up at Prince’s estate to talk to her brother.

“Your cat theory was very clever, by the way, I don’t think I ever mentioned it,” Holmes admits.

Watson blushes slightly at the praise, “But it was wrong.”

“Very easily could have been right, though. Truly, it was an adequate explanation of some of the facts.”

Watson rolls his eyes playfully, “Can’t just compliment a bloke, can you?”

Holmes gives him a confused expression, “That _was_ a compliment.”

Watson laughs.

Sherlock comes to the house pretending to be a photographer; they cause a ruckus of confusion before heading swiftly off of the premises. Sherlock gives his findings to Greg. John becomes frustrated with Sherlock, realizing that he knew the answer for much longer than he had let on and just let an innocent woman sit attached to a bomb for no reason.

“John clearly thinks Sherlock puts puzzles before people,” Holmes states, “Is that how you feel, as well?”

Watson glances over at him and shrugs, not even bothering to try to lie after all their years together - Holmes always knows anyway, “Sometimes. I used to a lot more than I do now.”

“Even now?” He sounds honestly a bit hurt by the thought that Watson wouldn’t understand his methods by now.

“No,” Watson admits, “not for a while now.”

Holmes smiles gratefully before turning away.

Sherlock messages Moriarty the answer and then the phone rings. Sherlock desperately tries to stop her from saying anything about the voice, doesn’t actually want any harm to come to this stranger, but she doesn’t listen. The line goes dead.

Holmes and Watson watch with rapt attention as Sherlock and John argue over Sherlock’s humanity. It’s one they had themselves, around this time, because the healer in John Watson cannot comprehend the complete lack of empathy that is apparently found in one Sherlock Holmes.

Watson understands now, of course, has never questioned it since. Whether the talk opened Holmes’ eyes to how he comes across or some other stroke of fate, he tends to hide his compassion less frequently, at least from Watson.

Sherlock and John don’t come to the complete understanding that Holmes and Watson had before the new picture shows up on the phone. It frustrates them both that their other selves are not on the same page as they should be. John pitches in to help anyway, because he cares about the lives at stake more than he cares about proving a point to Sherlock.

Sherlock and John arrive at the Thames and examine the security guard’s body. Sherlock proclaims that the painting - never yet mentioned - is a fake, then explains the mythology behind the Golem. Deductions that place the victim as a security guard. John talks to the guard’s roommate while Sherlock impersonates a guard and confronts the art exhibitor.

“You really pretended to be a security guard to get a look at the painting?” Watson asks.

“Are you honestly surprised by that? It was the easiest way to get up close,” Holmes reasons.

John promptly takes up the West case again, interviewing his fiancée. They walk out of her flat and run in to her brother.

“Oh yeah, that guy!” Watson says, remembering that he was the one who had killed West.

Holmes tsks and rolls his eyes.

Sherlock gets the requested information from his homeless network and they go traipsing off after the Golem, nearly catching him. Then the scene switches to the planetarium where a woman is controlling a program on Jupiter and the other planets.

“I see the solar system is making a comeback,” Watson observes with amusement, though he knew it was coming.

Holmes sighs as though put upon before replying, “Yes, but if it’s a video about Jupiter, why are they playing _Mars_?”

“What are you on about?”

“They aptly chose to use Holst’s _The Planets_ as background music, but this is _Mars_ , not _Jupiter_. Though I guess it is a bit more exciting: war vs jollity and all that.”

“You are such a nerd,” he states with clear affection in his voice and eyes.

Holmes observes him. Normally he takes it as an insult to be called such, but by Watson it is clearly a compliment.

“I know,” Holmes admits with a smile as the battle with the Golem rages on the screen before them. The Golem gets away.

Back to the art gallery, attempting to figure out a way to prove that the painting is a fake. The call comes in with a child counting down, forcing Sherlock to figure it out quicker. They watch as Sherlock struggles, yelling aloud to himself in frustration.

“Bet a knowledge of the solar system didn’t seem so trivial in that moment,” Watson goads.

Holmes waves a hand in disregard, “It was hardly necessary. I learned all I needed to solve it in the planetarium, not my primary school classroom.”

“I’m sure Mrs. Badcrumble would be offended,” Watson jokes.

“Who?”

“It’s an Eddie Izzard reference…nevermind.”

John runs off to finish out the West case as Sherlock presses Wenceslas for details of the beginning of the case. Sherlock shows up later to help John finish out Mycroft’s case. They break in to the suspect’s flat, point a gun at him when he enters, and drag the story from him. Nothing as interesting as Sherlock or John was hoping. Sherlock confiscates the thumb drive.

Back in 221B Sherlock yells at crap telly while John slowly types away at his computer with a mere two fingers instead of ten. He always uses just the two, and Holmes secretly finds it adorable at the same time he’s driven mad by the lack of productivity it perpetuates. John leaves the flat, claiming to be going to see Sarah.

“I was off to see Mary,” Watson corrects quietly.

Both men are subdued by the knowledge of what is to come.

Sherlock surreptitiously checks to make sure that John is gone before pulling out his laptop and prompting Moriarty to meet him at the pool.

Watson’s left hand clenches reflexively in a mix of anger and anxiety. Holmes pretends not to notice.

Sherlock enters the pool and speaks. John enters via another door and Sherlock freezes, uncertain about the information being presented to him.

A few sentences from John Watson’s mouth, however, and Sherlock Holmes knows/knew what was happening before the vest was even exposed.

Holmes growls quietly, remembering the exact feeling that someone – some crazed madman – had dared to place Watson in danger because of him. Watson struggles to keep his breath steady. These nightmares had finally, _finally_ gone away, and he wishes forcefully that it stays that way.

Moriarty enters, the voice they haven’t heard in nearly four years grating around in their skulls like nails on a chalkboard. Holmes and Watson grimace in distaste.

Sherlock and John exchange brief glances laced with meaning whenever they can, silently attempting to solidify a plan between them.

Neither Holmes nor Watson can look away, entranced by this perspective of one of their most life-altering moments as friends and colleagues.

Moriarty rambles about his own accomplishments; how brilliant he is. They always talk too much, the villain. They’re always so proud of their evil work and need to be acknowledged. It’s tiresome.

Sherlock checks if John’s alright, Moriarty grants John permission to speak but he doesn’t. Perhaps as an act of defiance or merely not trusting his own voice, he simply locks eyes with Sherlock and nods.

Sherlock does not hesitate to give up what he thinks is his power card to get John out of that ruddy vest. Moriarty takes the missile plans and chucks them in to the pool, throwing the offering in their figurative faces. John seizes the opportunity to latch on to him from behind, leading the snipers to change their aim to Sherlock.

Without any context – with only one look at John’s face as he lets go of Moriarty – Sherlock knows the dots are on him. He shakes his head minutely in a _Just leave it_ way, but of course John will not.

Moriarty threatens to burn the heart out of Sherlock, negating Sherlock’s claim that he doesn’t have one.

Holmes breathes in deep through his nose, the reminder that his going after Watson was no coincidence. Watson is the heart to his brain, a matched set from the very beginning.

Moriarty exits, Sherlock moves towards John. Sherlock performs a quick check for sniper dots and, not seeing any, moves swiftly to remove the vest of dynamite from John’s person.

“Jesus, stop waving the gun around and scratching your head with it!” Watson admonishes.

“The safety was on,” Holmes argues, affronted.

“That’s not the point,” Watson insists a bit weaker.

John attempts to make a joke about people talking about Sherlock ripping his clothes off, and Watson tilts his head away from Sherlock, fighting a smirk even as his blood continues to boil.

The sniper dots reappear and then that voice is back. There is an epic stand-off as Moriarty threatens to kill them. Sherlock and John – through another silent agreement – resolve, without hesitation, to die together if necessary.

Watson closes his eyes as Sherlock lowers the gun to the vest. He hears the music change from its frantic repetitive rhythm to the end-credit theme song, but still refuses to open his eyes.

The sofa shifts and then the music is halted, the remote making a soft sound as it’s placed back on to the coffee table.

“Watson,” the younger man says gently, instinct urging him to reach out and place his right hand overtop the other’s left, “you know how this ends.”

Watson’s eyes open and he turns to look at his best friend, his left hand twisting to grip the hand offered to him as an anchor, “I know. It’s not the pool that causes me distress, not really.”

Holmes searches his eyes for a moment before realization dawns, “The fall.”

Watson winces beyond his control, “It has to be in there, doesn’t it? If this was?”

“I expect that you’re correct,” he admits.

They stare at each other with an intenseness they had been lacking since Holmes’ return from the dead; the closeness they had so easily at the pool. They can see the truths, the declarations, in each other’s eyes but cannot speak them. There’s nothing left but a million words to say.

But instead they separate, agreeing to order some food since it is now nearly 3:30pm. They’ll continue the DVDs once it’s arrived.

They could use a tea and loo break, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm clearly a music nerd, recognizing the thing about The Planets (and legitimately becoming upset by it each time I rewatch).
> 
> Starting tomorrow, you'll only be getting one chapter a day since they increase in size quite significantly. Just a heads up :)


	5. A Scandal in Belgravia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving! (Spoiler alert: I'm American)
> 
> Due to family being around for the next million years, I'll most likely be posting each chapter (just one a day, now) earlier in the day for you guys...at least until Saturday or Sunday. Then I go back to work and they'll be posted a bit later again.

They settle back on the sofa with their Thai take-out in hand, ready to resume this adventure.

Holmes selects _A Scandal in Belgravia_ and they’re immediately transported back to the pool for resolution. Food and a breather, plus the drama being mostly over, makes it easier for both men.

There’s a recapitulation, just as though it were a real airing TV show that had to wait a length of time for this to come back and not stalker footage. They face off with the vest and gun, then Moriarty’s _Stayin’ Alive_ ringtone chimes in.

Holmes shudders reflexively at the sound, a near Pavlovian response, “How obnoxious was his choice of ringtone?”

“Extremely,” Watson easily agrees.

Moriarty yells about skinning someone if they’re lying and then leaves the pool. The sniper dots disappear. The scene fades in to a woman dressed provocatively.

Watson groans in aggravation, “Oh Jesus, I had nearly forgotten about her.”

Holmes looks perplexed, “Really?” he asks disbelieving.

Watson cracks a small smile and admits, “No.”

Holmes smirks in return.

Next come the flashes of various cases they either took or dismissed; they are all familiar to the pair. John and Sherlock bicker in the morgue about whose website is more popular and Sherlock storms off in a strop, leaving John and Greg to look at each other in confusion.

“You’re such a drama queen,” Watson smirks.

“That’s Sherlock, not me.”

“Nope, definitely true to form for you, as well.”

Sherlock insults John’s choice of case titles again. Another flash of a case where Sherlock tells children that there is no heaven, and then Sherlock and John are back with Greg, checking out a man in a trunk. John types the case write-up and Sherlock yells at him for detailing the unsolved ones, uncertain why anyone would care to know he’s human.

Greg walks Sherlock and John through the back of a theatre, warning about the press outside. Before leaving the building, Sherlock pulls on a deerstalker and hands John a flat cap.

“Ugh, that hat!” Holmes bemoans.

“You brought it on yourself,” Watson intones, sounding a bit bored repeating the same conversation they have had many times before.

“If I had known it would become a part of my supposed image, I would have taken the flat cap myself instead of giving it to you.”

A quick scene of Irene caressing a newspaper photo of Sherlock. Mrs. “Not Your Housekeeper” Hudson cleaning up the kitchen and fridge. A stranger coming in to the flat and collapsing, then Mrs. Hudson yelling for them.

“I’m sorry, where is she yelling to? Where does she think they are right now?” Watson asks, face slowly heating as he points to the screen with his palm facing upwards.

“She was yelling up towards your bedroom,” Holmes answers with a calculating look, deducing the trajectory.

“For the _both_ of them?”

“Yep,” he answers, elongating the ‘e’ and popping the ‘p’ as he’s prone to do occasionally.

Watson places his face in his hands with a groan.

The scene cuts to a flashback of the client’s story. The car backfires and a man lays dead. Skip ahead to present time, New Scotland Yard is on the scene and Greg is advising the lead investigator - Carter - to work with Sherlock if he can manage it. Just John shows up with a laptop in hand, Sherlock being too lazy to get dressed or leave the flat.

“Holmes…” Watson starts, not entirely certain he wants to vocalize his most recent deduction.

“Yes,” the detective states, not a question, as if he already knows where this is headed.

“Sherlock and you sent John and me to the scene because you didn’t deem it interesting enough to leave the flat for.”

“Yes.”

“But when _I_ left you, you were dressed. Sherlock is…”

“In a sheet.”

“Which means that when the client was telling his story Sherlock was…”

“In a sheet.”

“Which means that when Mrs. Hudson called to John’s bedroom for them, Sherlock was…”

“Probably naked,” he confirms, calm as ever, “or in a sheet,” he adds as an alternative option.

“What the _fuck_?!” Watson yells, gesticulating wildly at the telly.

“Oh, Watson, calm down,” Holmes admonishes, “nothing happened.”

“But…” He starts feebly, gesturing less wildly once more.

Holmes finally faces him, “Any number of things could have been happening there, but it wasn’t anything intimate, so stop jumping to conclusions,” he turns away as he finishes.

Holmes doesn’t want to continue the conversation, because the next step of it is admitting that Sherlock and John are clearly attracted to each other, and he doesn’t want to face Watson’s negative reaction to the idea. He can’t stand to see the revulsion to the thought that John Watson could have a romantic interest in Sherlock Holmes; it very well may break him.

Watson doesn’t want to continue the conversation for fear that his own romantic feelings towards Holmes will be revealed somehow. He’s not upset that Sherlock and John appear to be exceedingly comfortable around each other, he’s upset about how easy they make it look.

They watch in silence as the Secret Service come to retrieve Sherlock and a helicopter collects John. Both are taken to Buckingham Palace where John finds Sherlock – still clad in only a sheet – sitting on a couch.

“Well, nice to see that Sherlock’s got the same propensity for public nudity as you do,” Watson laughs.

“Oh please, if I had shown up without pants to the Palace, Mycroft would have killed me,” Holmes says seriously, but his smirk gives him away.

On screen, Sherlock and John dissolve in to giggles. They discuss why they’re in their current location and make a joke about Mycroft being the queen that sends Holmes and Watson laughing, as well. Sherlock, true to his petulant form, stoutly refuses to put any clothes on until Mycroft has nearly left him standing naked, holding on to a semblance of control by demanding to know who his client is.

Now dressed, Sherlock and John are told about the Irene Adler case involving some incriminating photos of a member of the royal family. Sherlock is confident that he’ll be able to get ahold of the pictures quickly and the pair sets off to her residence. On the way, Sherlock stops the cab two streets away so that John can punch him in the face, but John doesn’t exactly stop there.

“Honestly, just one punch would have sufficed,” Holmes admonishes, remembering the thrill of the tussle even through the pain of his cheek.

“You got what you had coming to you,” Watson holds firm to his beliefs.

Sherlock and John enter Irene’s place via story of a vicar who has been attacked and a doctor who just conveniently happened to be passing by at the time. Sherlock waits in the sitting room while John is led to get a bowl of water and a towel to clear Sherlock’s face. Irene enters the room completely bared of all clothes, catching Sherlock utterly off guard. She asks him questions, practically straddling his lap by the time John enters the room.

Watson remembers the jealousy he felt upon seeing Holmes with a naked woman, which was completely unfounded since he was already married to Mary at this point in his life.

“You’re awfully jealous, Watson,” Holmes observes of the encounter on screen.

Watson clears his throat, futilely fighting the blush that he can feel creeping up his neck, “No, _John_ is; _I_ was married when this happened and had no reason to be jealous.”

“Ah, yes,” Holmes says quietly, not looking at him. Watson tells himself that he imagines the sad lilt to the response.

They don’t speak for a while.

Sherlock is unable to deduce the naked woman across from him; far too little to go on. Irene infers that John loves Sherlock based on the location of his punch earlier. John laughs humorlessly and asks her to put clothes on as a response.

“The cheek is a perfectly natural reflexive location to punch when not thinking,” Watson defends himself, having punched Holmes in the same spot.

“Of course,” Holmes agrees, sounding serious, but the quirk of his lips gives him away.

Watson grumbles unintelligibly at that and watches as Sherlock offers his own coat to Irene so as to make John more comfortable with the situation. Irene asks about the motorist case, wanting to know how it’s done since she won’t be giving in to the real reason they’re visiting.

**“Brainy’s the new sexy.”**

John smirks as if flattered and Sherlock starts speaking seemingly before he even knows what he’s going to say.

Watson’s eyebrows crease, “Were you… _jealous_?”

“No,” Holmes scoffs, “as you say: you were married.”

“But Sherlock was jealous.”

“I think we have established that Sherlock and John are just different enough to not be us. Their dimension is not the same as ours and thus their reactions are not our reactions.”

“No, I know that, I’m just saying that John isn’t the only one coming across as jealous,” he smirks as if in triumph.

“Yes yes, fine,” Holmes concedes, hand waving dismissively as he returns his attention to the telly.

John leaves the room and lights a magazine on fire to set off the smoke-detector as Sherlock walks Irene through the facts of the case of the missing pictures. Irene gives away the location of the pictures with a single glance when she hears the alarm. John has difficulty getting the detector to stop shrieking until an American sneaks up on him and shoots it before leading John back in to the sitting room.

Sherlock is attempting to figure out how to get in to the safe, what the code might be, when the Americans enter the room and force John and Irene to the floor by gunpoint. The lead gunman tells Sherlock to open the safe, but he is insistent that he doesn’t know the code. He’s calm as he’s ever been until the gunman on John is told to shoot him on the count of three, then the panic sets in.

Holmes remembers his own fear in that moment. The American was smart, threatening John, because had he threatened himself he would not have budged. He doesn’t have much of a regard for his own life, but Watson’s is an entirely different matter altogether.

Sherlock figures out that the code is Irene’s measurements - the only thing she really told him - and enters it. He hears the gun inside the safe cock as he turns the lock and knows to duck upon opening it. He warns John with a reference to an old case and John doesn’t falter for a second before getting further down. The bullet takes out the man who was supposed to kill John, Irene puts up a decent fight with her gunman, and Sherlock takes on the leader. There’s chaos for a few seconds which Sherlock utilizes to grab the phone from within the safe. Sherlock goes outside and fires multiple shots in to the air to alert the police.

“Jesus, I had forgotten about that,” Watson laughs.

“It was the most efficient way to get the cops there without wasting our time on the phone,” Holmes shrugs with a smile.

Sherlock and John go back inside, Sherlock discusses with Irene while John searches the house for further threats. In the bedroom, Irene injects Sherlock with some kind of drug and forcefully takes the phone from him after hitting him a few times with her riding crop. John comes back in, not caring that Irene is getting away, simply worried about making sure that Sherlock is alright.

Drugged Sherlock is back in the motorist crime scene with Irene as she walks through how it must have happened. Then Sherlock appears to be transported back to his bed where, of course, he’s actually been the entire time since she broke in to his room at the flat.

Sherlock comes to awareness - or the closest thing to it that he’s been for a while - and immediately calls for John who enters the room seconds later. They talk, John puts him back to bed, Sherlock dismisses him, and then his phone makes a moaning sound from his jacket pocket.

Watson grits his teeth; he had not missed that sound one bit.

Next morning Mycroft comes to visit. Sherlock and John do a spectacular job of going about their business pretending he’s not there except for answering his questions. Mrs. Hudson admonishes Mycroft for putting Sherlock in danger, prompting Mycroft to tell her to shut up. Sherlock and John turn their full attentions on to the other man in distaste, chastising him. Mycroft apologizes and they move on with the conversation. The elder Holmes gets a call and moves to the hallway, allowing John space to ask about the moaning text message which Sherlock is absurdly aloof about. Mycroft reenters and exchanges words with Sherlock before leaving.

Flash forward to Christmas and a celebration they’re hosting in 221B that Holmes and Watson never did. Sherlock is playing the violin, John is in an ugly jumper, and all around everyone appears to be having a grand old time. Sherlock tries to thank John’s new girlfriend and ends up insulting her by going through the list of all of John’s recent paramours while trying to remember her name.

“Thank God we never went through that with _my_ girlfriends,” Watson says with true relief.

“I never had cause to,” Holmes assures him.

And it’s true. Watson hadn’t dated anyone before Mary since they met her on one of their first cases together and…well…he has yet to appear to express interest in anyone else since her passing nearly three years ago.

“Yoo hoo! Boys!” their Mrs. Hudson calls to them as she enters the flat with a tea tray in hand.

Watson reaches to the coffee table for the remote and pauses the DVD - as fate would have it - on Mrs. Hudson’s face. She stops where she’s standing, transfixed by the telly.

Watson nudges Holmes, who is nearer to her, and the younger man stands to take the tray from her hands to place it on the coffee table. At the same time, Watson drags his chair over to be nearer the couch and gently guides her down in to it, her eyes still fixed on the screen.

“Honestly, Mrs. Hudson, it’s merely your face,” Holmes admonishes.

“Holmes!” Watson hisses at him with a glare.

Holmes turns his head, his face falling in the way a scolded puppy’s does. He’s come so far over the years that sometimes it’s difficult for Watson to remember that human interactions aren’t Holmes’ strong suit.

Watson sighs heavily and gives Holmes an apologetic look before turning to their landlady, “Mrs. Hudson, we can explain.”

“ _Can_ we?” Holmes asks, returning to his patronizing tone.

Watson glares at him again, “ _Yes_ ,” he stresses, then opens his mouth to do so, but finds that he actually can’t explain it because everything he thinks to say sounds ridiculous. Holmes smirks triumphantly.

“I don’t understand,” Mrs. Hudson says, calming down after the shock, but still clearly perplexed as she looks between the two men expectantly.

“Short version?” Holmes starts, “These DVDs appeared this morning; they’re apparently real footage from an alternate dimension.”

She doesn’t say anything, simply slow blinks at Holmes as though she’s dismissing countless retorts about the absurdity of that scenario.

“We know it’s hard to believe,” Watson assures her after a few more seconds of uncomfortable silence.

She blinks some more and then reaches forward for the remote, pressing play and watching the Christmas party.

All three watch as Sherlock makes mention of the counter still stuck at 1895. Molly and Greg talk about his relationship status – Sherlock says his wife is sleeping with a PE teacher. Molly and John talk about how Sherlock was complaining about John going to see his sister for the holiday – Sherlock says Harry is not actually sober as she claims and John yells at him. Sherlock then deduces the present at the top of the bag that Molly brought, saying that it’s clear she’s in love with whomever it’s for. John, in the background, looks so sadly understanding at her because he knows before Sherlock does who the gift is for. Sherlock reads the label and is caught off guard, apologizes – much to John and Watson’s shock – and places a kiss on her cheek.

Mrs. Hudson pauses right after another text alert moan is emitted.

“But this never happened,” she says, looking back at Holmes.

“Not to us, but it did to them,” he answers.

“What, this other Holmes and Watson?”

“They prefer to go by Sherlock and John, apparently,” Holmes replies, though it’s not of much consequence, really.

“Right,” she says calmly, standing from her chair and placing the remote back on the table, “Well, I’m going to leave this tray of tea and biscuits with you; I hadn’t heard much from you both all morning and I got worried. If one of you would be so kind as to return it downstairs when you’re done?” She says as she finishes fussing around the tray and moves towards the door.

“Absolutely, Mrs. Hudson; thank you,” Watson says, feeling embarrassed by what she’s seen.

She pauses just inside the doorway and turns to them again, “It’d be nice, you know,” she starts and only gets quizzical looks in return, “celebrating Christmas together, I mean.”

Holmes opens his mouth to say how dreadful that actually sounds – about as excited about the concept as Sherlock – but Watson speaks up before he can.

“Yes it would. Maybe this year,” he assures her and they smile at each other before she leaves. Watson turns on the other man suddenly with a disapproving look, “You can’t always pretend not to have a heart, you know; she cares for you immensely and you for her in return, I know you do.”

“But social situations,” Holmes reasons with a look of distaste.

“We don’t have to invite more than her if we don’t want, but she’s right: it’d be nice.”

Holmes rolls his eyes instead of answering, returning to the couch in a bit of a huff. Watson follows, stepping sideways between the coffee table and the other man’s obnoxiously long legs to reclaim his seat to Holmes’ right. They push play.

“Why _were_ you counting?” Holmes asks honestly.

While the Christmas party never happened, the texts, the counting, Adler’s false demise all did.

Watson shrugs one shoulder, “Was kind of hard not to notice when one came in, and it seemed like an awful lot. My brain got curious to how many it exactly was.”

Holmes hums in response.

Sherlock unwraps Irene’s phone and then he calls Mycroft to warn him to keep an eye out for her body. Cut to later when both Holmes brothers enter St. Bart’s to find Molly with Irene’s body. Sherlock IDs her and then Mycroft offers him a cigarette as the younger explains how he knew she’d be found dead. They discuss their family history; both of their social ineptitudes when it comes to caring for others.

Mycroft calls John, warning him that Sherlock took the cigarette and that he can’t go anywhere. John’s girlfriend is none too pleased about him always choosing Sherlock over her, she infers that John is really dating Sherlock without acknowledging it, points out how his best friend can’t even bother to tell his girlfriends apart, then storms out after John demonstrates that _he_ can’t tell them apart either. At the end of it, John doesn’t look at all surprised by what’s just happened, more like he just doesn’t care.

Sherlock comes home and practically ignores John, just as Holmes had. Watson had left his wife at home that night to stay with him – per Mycroft’s request – but he really just spent most of the night reading before retiring to his old bedroom.

Next morning, Sherlock is playing violin as Mrs. Hudson fusses about with the cleanup from the night before as John puts his coat on and prepares to leave. Sherlock goes in to a flurry of speculation about how the counter being stuck at 1895 clearly means it’s the password for the locked phone. It isn’t.

John and Mrs. Hudson have a quiet conversation about the history of Sherlock’s love life.

“I’ve still never quite figured this one out,” Watson says, “ _Have_ you ever had a relationship?”

Holmes sighs, “Of course I have.”

“Really?” Watson is shocked.

“Yes, really; I too was young once,” he belittles, “and as hard as it is to believe, I wasn’t always comfortable being myself around people, so I tried to fit in to the moulds that society has placed on us. They never went anywhere or lasted very long, though.”

Watson hesitates, neck flushing as he contemplates asking but then pushes through and does anyway, “And what about sex? Was Mycroft correct in assuming that you’ve never…?” he trails off, not feeling as though he needs to vocalize the entire thought to get an answer.

Holmes turns his head to study Watson, as though attempting to suss out his reason for asking before turning back to the screen and answering quietly, “Unfortunately, my brother is rarely wrong.”

That’s all the answer he gets, and Watson doesn’t push it any further.

John leaves the flat and gets approached by a strange woman on the street.

“You know, seeing it on screen like this, I spend an awful lot of time getting in to unknown cars with strangers,” Watson reflects.

“Yes, and it’s a habit that you really must cease. We’re quite lucky no one has taken advantage of this fact to take you hostage yet.”

“Nice of you to care,” Watson smiles at him, knowing that caring has nothing to do with it.

The car arrives at Battersea and John walks inside, thinking he’s talking to Mycroft but is faced with Irene. John asks her to tell Sherlock that she’s alive; surely that would fix everything for his friend, if he just knew. They have witty banter back and forth where John presents as jealous and Irene – joining the ranks of, well, everyone – insists that they’re a couple. Their own experience at Battersea did not include the innuendo.

“Of course,” Watson says, not even sounding offended anymore, “How many people is that now that think Sherlock and John are gay?”

“That have hinted towards it outright? Five at last count.”

“Of course you’ve been keeping track.”

“My brain never actually turns off, unlike some people.”

As they watch the scene play out, both wonder silently if John really is in love with Sherlock, but neither can voice it aloud.

Irene texts Sherlock, letting him know that she’s not dead, and both John and Irene are surprised to hear the text alert moaning nearby. Sherlock strides out, unsure what to make of the conversation he just overheard. He arrives back at Baker Street and notices that the door has been forced. He deduces that Mrs. Hudson has been dragged up the stairs against her will.

“Oh, these Americans were so idiotic; _‘I refuse to fight more than one of you, so you two spares should leave.’_ ” Holmes imitates himself, then responds to himself in a higher tone, “ _’Yes, alright, that makes perfect sense. Bye!’_ God, it’s no wonder the rest of the world makes fun of them!”

Watson simply laughs uproariously.

Sherlock takes down the only American who remains in the room quite easily, and then John is arriving back at the flat. John takes care of Mrs. Hudson as Sherlock calls Lestrade to report the crime of break-in, then describing the crime he’s yet to commit of tossing the “burglar” out the window. John suggests that Mrs. Hudson leave London to rest for a bit, but Sherlock won’t hear of it.

Sherlock x-rays Irene’s phone and discovers explosives. Molly initiates another possible password option, but it’s wrong, as well. Back in 221B, Sherlock discovers Irene asleep in his bed. They discuss the encrypted email; Sherlock solves it within about eight seconds, and appears not to even realize Irene is truly flirting with him. John, showing his jealous side once again, attempts to interrupt their very intense staring contest by blurting out his middle name.

“I had to steal your birth certificate to learn your middle name!” Holmes gives him an angry look, “If I had known that all it took for you to confess it was to let some woman flirt with me, I would have gladly done so. Would have saved me a lot of time and effort, anyway.”

“You stole my birth certificate?” Watson latches on to this fact, not being aware that Sherlock even knew his middle name.

“Oh, Hamish,” he admonishes with a sly smirk.

“Yeah, let’s never do that again,” he says seriously.

Sherlock’s mind palace races as he combines facts that seemed to be completely separate from each other until this moment. Mycroft receives a message from Moriarty cluing him in to the fact that their Bond Air plan has been discovered.

Sherlock talks aloud to who he thinks is John but is really Irene. Watson, at this point, had gone home to see Mary. Sherlock explains the Coventry conundrum to Irene (allowing an attack to happen so that the extent of their knowledge wasn’t given away) and then she attempts, yet again, to get Sherlock in to bed.

“Honestly, does the woman not understand that he’s not interested in her?” Watson fumes, fighting the jealousy in the pit of his stomach again, “She’s tried how many times now, unsuccessfully?”

“I thought John was jealous, not you,” Holmes smirks.

“Yeah, well, one of us has to be, don’t we? And he’s not there to do it himself.”

Mrs. Hudson interrupts the moment.

“Bless that woman, truly,” Watson says quietly.

Sherlock is taken to the plane full of corpses.

“The real mystery is how they kept the plane from smelling atrocious,” Holmes points out, “Some of those people had been dead for quite some time, yet there was no strong scent of decay.”

“A question for Mycroft one of these days, perhaps.”

Mycroft belittles him for succumbing to Irene’s charms, and Irene ignores Sherlock in favor for threatening Mycroft. They go back to Mycroft’s estate to barter. Mycroft attempts to find any way not to be under Irene’s thumb, but she’s done a fantastic job of getting him there in the first place, so it’s easy to keep the upper hand. That is, until she mentions her dalliances with Moriarty and mocks Sherlock for thinking that she could ever want him. From there, it’s a simple (egotistical) deduction of what’s in her heart: Sherlock himself. He unlocks the phone, hands it to Mycroft, and makes to walk out. Irene begs but to no avail.

Mycroft is waiting for John outside of Speedy’s in the rain.

“I think that might be the first time I’ve seen him actually use the umbrella for its intended purpose,” Holmes quips.

“Oh, this was a fun conversation,” Watson remembers.

“I’ll admit: you two meet in private more often than I thought you did. Something you’d like to share, Watson?” He smirks with a leer.

“Don’t start making assumptions about me and your brother like others do about Sherlock and John,” he chides lightly.

John and Mycroft sit at a table and the older Holmes explains that Irene is dead. They discuss how to break it to Sherlock – what to tell him – because he appears not to feel things but surely that’s not entirely true.

**“Neither do I, but initially he wanted to be a pirate.”**

“Good God, is _nothing_ sacred?” Holmes shouts, forgetting for a moment that his brother can’t hear him.

“He’s yet to pull out your baby book,” Watson tells him, “but I assume that that’s coming shortly. Natural progression and all.”

Holmes glares intensely at his amused face.

Mycroft tells John that Irene is really, truly dead. John heads up to the flat, file in hand, to deliver the (fake) news that she is in the Witness Protection Program in America.

“I knew you were lying,” Holmes whispers.

“No you didn’t.”

“Yes I did. You think you’re so good at lying but you’re really not. I was okay with her being dead; why wouldn’t you have told me the truth?”

“I didn’t want you to hurt any more than you already were,” he answers honestly, “I thought some false hope would be harmless.”

Sherlock demands to be given the phone, another difference from their own timeline. Holmes and Watson watch in confusion as he takes it over to the window. There’s a “flash back” to Sherlock rescuing Irene from her beheading and then he smiles as he places the phone in a desk drawer. The credits role.

“The _hell_ was that last bit?” Watson demands, turning to his friend on the couch.

“ _I_ don’t know!” Holmes responds, offended at the accusation.

“Did you go and bloody _save_ that woman, Sherlock Holmes?”

“No,” he stresses truthfully, “why would I?”

“I don’t know, why would Sherlock?” He asks, gesturing towards the telly with his right hand.

“I don’t know why _he_ did, I just know that _I_ didn’t,” his eyes are afire, uncertain why he even has to have this fight.

Watson’s eyes dance between Holmes’, looking for any trace of dishonesty but finding none.

He whispers, “Are you positive?”

Holmes sighs in aggravation, but holds the other man’s gaze as he adamantly replies, “Yes.”

Watson nods once and turns away, grabbing the remote off the table.

“Straight in to the next one, then?” He asks, still a bit cold.

“Don’t see any reason why not,” Holmes doesn’t sound any happier, either.


	6. The Hounds of Baskerville

_Hounds of Baskerville_ starts straight in to footage of the client.

“Honestly, how is some of this footage even in here?” Watson asks incredulously.

“Presumably Moriarty was behind all of these cases prior to his demise; he wouldn’t have any reason to record anything that he wasn’t directly behind.”

“But the younger version of the client?”

“Probably an actor obtained for the shoot.”

“The rest of the footage is real, though.”

“Yes, but if he was concerned about production value, making it look like a legitimate show rather than stalker footage, he would do whatever it took.”

Watson makes an uneasy sound in the back of his throat, ending the conversation.

The client – Henry – is standing, stunned, in the hollow where his father died. The opening credits begin.

Sherlock enters the flat covered in blood and carrying a harpoon. John looks legitimately unsettled by the scene before him.

“And you wonder why some people find you a bit odd?” Watson smirks.

“Their minds are limited and I don’t care to be understood by them,” he asserts pompously.

Sherlock is pacing the apartment carrying the harpoon now sans blood. He is on edge from no cases and no nicotine, but John is doing a remarkably good job of ignoring him. Sherlock starts throwing things around looking for his cigarettes, stooping so low as to even beg John to allow him just one.

“Now this is a familiar nicotine-deprived tantrum,” Watson muses, “I thought Sherlock had quit smoking in the first episode, though.”

Holmes shrugs, “Life-long battle, maybe. They say that most of the methods to quit smoking are only temporary reprieves, not a permanent end to the addiction.”

“They who?” Watson scoffs with a smile, “The scientists inside your Mind Palace who justify your smoking habit?”

Holmes goes in to a pout, “No,” is all he says, leading Watson to assume he’s correct.

Mrs. Hudson comes in and suffers Sherlock’s demands, as well. She refuses to tell him where his cigarettes are so he begins to deduce her recent activities, which sets her in to an embarrassed huff before she storms out. John attempts to stop him a couple of times throughout the tirade, but to no avail.

John questions Sherlock’s mood and tells him to go apologize to Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock refuses, of course, and then starts talking fast and crazy about how he needs a case. John, growing frustrated, shouts back that he’s just solved one.

Holmes used to go through these phases, too, but they have blessedly diminished in frequency over the years. They would drive Watson mad just the same as they appear to do John.

John asks about cases on the website which sets Sherlock off in to a frenzied explanation of a case involving a glowing rabbit.

“Bluebell? Like the rabbit from _Watership Down_?” Watson asks.

“Probably,” Holmes agrees before continuing, “but a _glowing_ rabbit? What a ridiculous notion; I definitely wouldn’t have taken that case had it come across our desk.”

“Well, it seems to have pushed Sherlock ‘round the bend, as well.”

And sure enough, Sherlock is pretending to prance like a fairy as he imitates the voice of a small girl. At Sherlock’s mention of Cluedo, John gives him an emphatic no.

Watson laughs, knowing that feeling all too well. It would appear that all John Watsons avoid playing Cluedo with their Sherlock Holmes with the same veracity with which most other humans avoid playing Monopoly with their family. The game always lasts far too long and is infuriating.

The bell rings, heralding Henry’s arrival to discuss the so-called gigantic hound. He shows Sherlock and John a documentary in lieu of explaining it himself at first, but Sherlock pauses it and demands that he explains in his own words.

Henry briefly describes the beauty of Dartmoor before Sherlock cuts him off, far too impatient to be considerate. Henry keeps giving too many details for Sherlock’s taste, as though he’s attempting to make it more of an interesting story than it actually is. Henry describes the creature as “flashback” footage flashes by. Watson shifts uneasily in his seat again at the thought of where the footage came from. Henry continues his telling of the story until he gets fed up with Sherlock’s attitude regarding it and makes to leave.

Then Sherlock begins to deduce him about the events of this morning – his train ride and breakfast – and asking him what had happened last night to bring him to London. While Henry appears to be impressed by Sherlock, as most people are at first, John looks exasperated at the direction that his own life has taken.

When Sherlock begins to sniff the smoke from Henry’s cigarette, Holmes tuts in annoyance.

“Oh for God’s sake, have some self-respect,” he scolds his counterpart.

“Yeah, I’d rather let you have your own cigarette than witness that,” Watson says, “it’s just sad.”

Henry continues on about how his therapist thinks he needs to face his fears, and finally gets down to the point of what happened last night. He had gone back to the hollow and found the footprints of a gigantic hound.

The words enrapture Sherlock just as they did Holmes and he accepts the case. Unlike Holmes, however, Sherlock pretends to be too busy to go himself but assures Henry that he’ll send John instead. John puts the pieces together, knowing Sherlock doesn’t actually care about the glowing bunny case, and fetches his cigarettes for him and they’re on their way a few hours later.

“You don’t always have to ruin peoples relationships, you know that, don’t you?” Watson accuses Holmes lightly as Sherlock and John watch Mrs. Hudson confront the Speedy’s cook.

“That?” he gestures to the TV, “Please, Mrs. Hudson deserves so much better than a man who uses her to cheat on his wives.”

Watson stares at the side of Holmes' face with open affection that he quickly covers, “Careful now, your heart is growing again.”

Holmes merely tsks in distaste.

Sherlock and John are driving through the countryside, Sherlock behind the wheel.

“I wonder if John also doesn’t know how to drive,” Holmes contemplates aloud.

“You mean does John, like me, not see the point in getting a license because of all the convenient public transportation that’s available?”

“It’s freeing to be able to just drive.”

“That’s what I keep you around for, as my chauffer,” Watson smirks and Holmes fights his own with an eyeroll.

Sherlock and John stop for some sightseeing, getting the lay of the land. Sherlock assumes a position high atop a rock while John utilizes the map to tell him what to be looking at. They spot Baskerville, Grimpen Village, Dewer’s Hollow, and Baskerville’s minefield.

They continue their journey in to town and Sherlock flips his coat collar up as they walk. John shoots him a look. They walk in to a building and then there’s a flash over to Henry with his therapist, including flashbacks to his youth. Henry remembers the words “Liberty” and “In”, wondering what they could possibly mean.

John deals with the check in process while Sherlock wanders around the room. Watson’s brow creases as he’s pretty sure the man is about to join the ranks of those who assume Sherlock and John are gay. John questions the inn keeper about the minefield and they chat as Sherlock does yet more exploring. Then the other inn keeper shows up and jumps right in to the ranks with the other believers of the nature of Sherlock and John’s relationship. John doesn’t correct him, merely changes the subject quickly.

“He changes the subject because John could easily answer that question but doesn’t want to encourage their thinking,” Holmes points out helpfully, “So do I snore, Watson? I’ve always wondered.”

Watson grits his teeth slightly before answering, “When you deign to sleep, you mean? Not really; a few snuffles here and there, but nothing outright,” he watches Holmes nod before he continues with a question of his own, “Why do you think the inn keepers thought Sherlock and John were a couple but didn’t infer it with us?”

“Well, John isn’t wearing a wedding ring like you were when we were there. Much easier to assume we’re merely friends when one of us is wearing a ring but the other isn’t.”

Watson does a full stop, having never thought of it that way before, “Does that mean that more people have been assuming we’re gay since I stopped wearing my ring?” He asks honestly, but Holmes merely shushes him with a wave, his eyes transfixed on the screen again.

Sherlock is talking to the tour guide – Fletcher - when John comes along. Sherlock plays like they have a bet going and John latches on to the lie quickly to back him up. Fletcher launches in to his recalling of seeing the hound about a month ago and Sherlock isn’t convinced until he pulls out a mould of a giant paw print.

Next Sherlock drives them to Baskerville, using his brother’s credentials to gain access to the facility. Once inside, John has to pull rank in the military facility to allow them further access which causes Sherlock to adopt an extremely pleased look.

“I have been a wonderful influence on your sense of adventure,” Holmes congratulates himself with a smile.

“No, you’ve been a ruddy awful influence on my sense of decency,” he corrects.

“And yet here you are.”

“Stockholm Syndrome?” He tries to claim with a smile.

“Doesn’t quite fit,” Holmes negates, still smiling.

Sherlock and John are led through a number of security check points on their way to the research labs. John keeps the Corporal escorting them busy with logistical questions while Sherlock observes their surroundings as they go. They stop to talk to a woman –Dr. Stapleton – and Sherlock reveals that she is the mother of the child with the glowing rabbit.

“Jesus Christ, are you telling me Sherlock and John went in to Baskerville to deal with the glowing rabbit?!” Watson sounds offended at the notion.

“I think their main purpose was the same as ours was, fate just deemed it appropriate to bring them to this woman at the same time.”

“John is going to punch Sherlock again,” he says in a tone which implies that he supports the decision after seeing John’s reaction to the realization.

“No he’s not,” Holmes dismisses.

“Well he _should_ ,” he insists.

The security alarms go off and their progress is finally halted in a corridor. One of the male scientists – Dr. Frankland – covers for them for some unknown reason. He escorts them out, he explains that he’s a fan of the blog, and that he knew Henry’s father. He gives Sherlock his phone number so that they can catch up later.

Sherlock and John make their way to the car and Sherlock pops his collar again. John calls him out on his mysterious cheekbones and trying to look cool.

“What, exactly, are mysterious cheekbones, Watson?”

“Shut up.”

In the car, Sherlock and John discuss Dr. Stapleton’s secret genetic experiments on animals, including the rabbit.

“Weren’t we singing _Total Eclipse of the Heart_ at this point ourselves?” Watson jokes, since they clearly were not talking about a glowing rabbit.

“I do not _sing_ ,” Holmes insists, as though insulted at the notion.

“You hum when you think I can’t hear you,” Watson insists, which is true.

“Even if I did sing or hum, I certainly wouldn’t do so to some drivel like _Total Eclipse of the Heart_.”

“Sure sure, whatever you say,” Watson plays at forfeit and Holmes tuts in annoyance.

Watson’s heart swells with adoration for this man: his friend and partner. He wonders if John really does love Sherlock like he himself loves Holmes. Are all John Watsons across the dimensions destined to fall in love with their Sherlock Holmes’? Because if there’s a way to prevent it, Watson clearly missed the signs.

Sherlock and John arrive at Henry’s house, taken back by the size of it. They sit down for tea and Henry tells them about seeing the words “Liberty” and “In” within his mind. John assures Henry that Sherlock has a plan, which the detective reveals as taking Henry back out to the moor as bait to see if anything attacks him. Both John and Henry are appalled.

Next scene all three men are heading to the hollow even though this is an awful plan. Because no one wants to look like a wimp for staying behind? Who knows.

John hears a rustling as they’re walking and goes, by himself, to investigate it without saying a word to either of the other two. Once alone, he notices a flashing light that he figures must be a Morse code for something, so he tries to call to Sherlock who of course has kept walking. He’s left, instead, to take down the letters U.M.Q.R.A and then go find the others again.

Sherlock and Henry have a discussion about Dr. Frankland until they come upon Dewer’s Hollow. John is still somewhere behind them, but neither man seems to notice as they descend into the crater-like field. Howling begins and both Sherlock and Henry see the hound. Sherlock freaks out and runs from the hollow and the pair finds John again on their way back out without a single question about where he’s been.

John escorts Henry back to his house to get him settled while Sherlock makes his way back to their inn. John later finds him sitting near a fire in a dining area where they discuss what just happened. Problem is, Sherlock is freaking out too much to really be making any sense to John, and he pushes him away with his attitude and belittling.

“You honestly scared me that night,” Watson admits quietly, “I had never seen you so unhinged.”

“I thought I was losing my mind, so I was reverting back to my comfort zone of being alone. I was afraid that you would judge me if you knew I had seen it, that’s why it took me a while to confess it.”

Watson gives him a pained look before speaking truthfully, “There’s not anything you could ever admit to me about yourself that I would not accept you for.”

Holmes searches his eyes, unsure whether he can believe the words. He appears on the verge of admitting something then, but turns away before he can allow himself to.

Sherlock is in the middle of rapidly deducing the mother/son pair to prove that he’s fine (the manic tone shatters his credibility on that matter more than a little) and then he’s uttering the words Holmes has been dreading hearing.

**“I don’t have _friends_ ,” Sherlock replies with utter disdain.**

Holmes turns to place his right hand on Watson’s left shoulder, “God, Watson, I am _so_ sorry,” he says honestly, because he still feels occasional guilt over it.

Watson smiles, albeit a touch sadly, and places his right hand over Holmes’, “You’ve already apologized. It’s in the past,” he reassures him.

They share a smile, Watson squeezes the other man’s hand, and then their hands both drop as they turn back to the telly.

John walks out in to the night and sees the Morse code message again, so he goes to investigate. What he finds is quite mentally scarring and he’d rather delete it but doesn’t know how.

Sherlock texts him on his way back towards town, asking him to interview Henry’s therapist, Dr. Mortimer. He even sends John a picture of her to entice him to go speak with her. Of course John does.

Flash back over to Henry who is having another difficult night. While watching the telly, his motion-sense lights are triggered in the backyard multiple times, effectively causing him to have a meltdown.

John is sitting at a table in the pub with Mortimer, trying to get her to talk about Henry; though, as a doctor himself, he knows there’s very little hope to learn anything from her due to doctor/patient confidentiality. They continue to talk and subtly flirt until Dr. Frankland appears out of nowhere and infers to Mortimer that Sherlock and John are dating.

“Eight people now,” Holmes informs the other man, “nine if you count Mortimer who clearly thinks it after what he’s just said.”

“Are you honestly keeping track of how many people think Sherlock and John are in a relationship?”

“You started it by asking in the first place and now I can’t _not_.”

Mortimer walks away from the table and John is left, once again, with a look of unsurprised _Yeah, of course_ written all over his face. The evidence of how often this happens to him shows clearly in his blatant, easy acceptance of it each and every time.

Jump to the next morning with Sherlock back on the lookout rock, staring down Baskerville. Suddenly he’s bursting in to Henry’s house, offering to make him some coffee. Henry confronts him about lying about seeing the hound and Sherlock gets in to a debate with him about the semantics of his description. Sherlock leaves abruptly.

Back in town, Sherlock stumbles upon John in the cemetery and asks him about the Morse code, but John walks away, seemingly not yet ready to forgive him for his outburst last night. He keeps walking away as Sherlock enquires about his meeting with Mortimer – to no avail – before physically stopping John to explain what happened last night. He apologizes about the friend comment, admits that John is his only friend.

“And there it is: all better,” Watson muses with a small smile.

“You and John both forgave exceedingly quickly,” Holmes observes.

“Yeah, well, hearing that your best friend literally doesn’t consider that he has any other friend in the world but you can melt the ice pretty quick,” he replies honestly.

“What do I need with more than one friend?” He asks honestly.

They stare each other in the eye for a few moments before Watson turns away, unable to think of an answer.

Sherlock explains that hound may be an acronym instead of one word before he spots Greg in the pub. Greg pretends to be on holiday, though he’s clearly just come back from one.

“I still can’t believe you had known the man for how many years yet still didn’t know his first name was Greg,” Watson says.

“What’s the point when I refer to most everyone by their last names?”

“Yeah, why do you do that, by the way?”

Holmes shrugs, “I don’t know, an homage to easier times, perhaps?”

Watson lets go a laugh, “Only you would consider the 1800s easier times.”

Holmes smirks, “’Simpler times’ may have been a better choice of wording.”

Sherlock and John take Greg to talk to the inn keepers about their purchasing of large quantities of meat. Sherlock makes John a cup of coffee seemingly as a peace offering, but really as a means to test his theory about the sugar being tainted. It is clearly a poor cup of coffee by John’s standards, judging by his face, but he pretends to enjoy it nonetheless despite the sugar in it.

Inn keeper Billy falsely apologizes to his partner Gary for purchasing the meat products, but Greg calls him out on the lie. Gary then tells the truth about passing a regular dog off as the hound to improve their business.

John and Greg precede Sherlock out of the building and they discuss the detective’s possible Asperger’s before Greg disappears to talk to the local force. John questions Sherlock about how what he saw compares to a normal dog a couple might own, and Sherlock admits that it couldn’t have been the same thing. They need to get back in to Baskerville.

Mycroft helps get them in without hassle, though Major Barrymore isn’t at all pleased about it. Sherlock has managed to get 24 hours of unfettered access to the facility to run his experiment which causes Barrymore to get in to a pissing match with the detective.

“God, you’re an annoying dick when you want to be,” Watson observes good-naturedly.

“Oh please, what reason would I have had to be cordial to that man?”

Watson does honestly consider but can’t think of anything, so shrugs in defeat.

Cut back to Henry, fighting sleep at his house; he’s so exhausted but every time he closes his eyes he gets flashes of the past that startle him back awake.

Elsewhere, John walks in to one of the labs by himself, looking for clues, and Sherlock begins his experiment. Once John’s eyes are accustomed to the dark, Sherlock turns the lights on as bright as he can and blares an alarm to throw off his equilibrium. John tries to get out of the room but Sherlock has deactivated his card for the moment. He is trapped, and suddenly the lights go out and the alarm stops. He hears movement and spots a cage that appears to have been forced open at the bottom. And then he hears the growling.

He tries to get out again, but to no avail; Sherlock still has him locked in. John attempts to call Sherlock's phone but he won’t answer. There are more noises and John makes his way to one of the empty cages for some semblance of safety, covering his own mouth to try to stop any noises that might attract the hound to him.

His phone rings and he begs Sherlock to come help him, but Sherlock merely asks him questions about what he’s seeing. Once he admits that he can see the hound, Sherlock lets him out of the cage. John is incredibly upset by the proceedings, fighting back tears as he proclaims to Sherlock about what he saw. Sherlock tells him that he didn’t actually see it - only what Sherlock had set him up to perceive - and that they’ve all been drugged.

“That was the first big thing I had to forgive you for,” Watson points out softly.

Holmes turns to him, face full of emotion, “I don’t know that I could do something like that to you again,” he says honestly.

“What, now that you know I’d punch you if you did?”

“No, now that I see how it truly effected you,” he negates, “not my brightest plan, was it: placing a former soldier in what appeared to be a life-threatening situation?”

The left side of Watson’s mouth quirks up, “Not really, genius.”

Holmes studies him seriously for a minute, and Watson is too intrigued to break it. He can almost see his friend’s brain working.

“You’ve put up with so much during our acquaintance.”

Watson tips his head to the side, his brow furrowing in confusion, “Nothing I wouldn’t do again,” he assures.

Holmes performs a small, genuine smile of gratitude before looking back to the telly.

Sherlock and John have been talking with Dr. Stapleton, exposing the glowing rabbit as being in the room with them. The detective uses the information to commandeer use of a microscope, so the three make their way to another portion of the lab. There, Sherlock discovers that the sugar is, in fact, simply sugar and not a drug. He goes in to an explanation of his thought process.

**“Now, we have eaten and drunk exactly the same things since we got to Grimpen apart from one thing! You don’t take sugar in your coffee.”**

“Wait,” Watson says, holding out a hand to the telly, “hold on. What the _hell_ is that supposed to mean?”

“I think it’s pretty clear what it means.”

“It sounds like Sherlock and John were sharing plates of food and glasses of beverages.”

Holmes tuts, “Plates of food, yes, but drinks? Honestly, Watson, don’t be ridiculous; clearly they were just drinking the same thing, not sharing it.”

“Oh, right, clearly,” Watson stresses sarcastically, “Why were they sharing plates of food? If I remember correctly, you barely ate on this trip at all, as per usual.”

“That’s what the _shared_ plates are about. Neither Sherlock nor I prefer to have a plate of our own food; it’s too much.”

“So you’re telling me that if I let you eat off of my plate, you would eat more consistently?” He clarifies.

“In a nutshell, yes.”

“Well, Jesus, why didn’t you say that before? I could have been feeding you up all these years that easily?”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say _that_ ,” Holmes attempts to backtrack, but the looks of triumph and determination are already in Watson’s eyes.

On screen, Sherlock demands that John and Dr. Stapleton leave the room so that he can go in to his Mind Palace undisturbed, thus finally figuring out the significance of “Liberty”, “In”, and “H.O.U.N.D.”

Henry is running through a field at night, gun in hand as he tries to evade the hound that’s following him with glowing red eyes. He turns and takes a clumsy shot at it, but then he’s suddenly back in his house. He tried to shoot his therapist. He apologizes profusely, looking at the gun in his hand as though he just noticed it was there, and then runs away.

Dr. Stapleton tries to access the information about H.O.U.N.D., but her clearance isn’t high enough, so Sherlock deduces Major Barrymore’s password to get it. They discover that Dr. Frankland was in the original project group that was attempting to use a gas to effect its victims with fear and stimulus, so they would be more easily suggestible. Sherlock calls him to arrange a meeting at the same time Dr. Mortimer calls John to tell him of Henry’s attempt to shoot her (on accident). Sherlock calls Greg and demands that he meet them in Dewer’s Hollow…with a gun.

Henry arrives in the hollow first, prepared to take his own life with the gun in his hand, convinced that he’s gone insane and there’s no help for him. Sherlock talks to him, mostly attempting to distract him while they await Greg’s arrival, but also giving him the answers to his plight. That he isn’t crazy, someone - Dr. Frankland - simply wanted him to think so.

Henry remembers the actual events of that night: his father fighting a man, not a hound. There was a gas mask on the attacker, and his shirt proclaimed “H.O.U.N.D.” He’s stunned at the realization and John takes the opportunity to remove the gun from his loose hand as Greg arrives in the hollow.

Just as Sherlock proclaims that there never was a monster, they hear a howling. A dog appears, presenting as the hound to all of their drug-addled minds. There is another figure, breathing oddly, approaching through the mist at the same time. Sherlock approaches him and removes the gas mask to find Moriarty staring back at him before he morphs back in to the actual Dr. Frankland. Sherlock realizes that the drug is in the fog.

Greg attempts to shoot the dog at Dr. Frankland’s order but misses, so John aims and hits it with a mere two shots. Henry attacks Frankland, the man who killed his father, but is pulled off of him. Sherlock fits the final pieces together, thanking Henry for such a thrilling case. John admonishes him for his timing, and Sherlock looks genuinely shocked that it wasn’t good.

Holmes and Watson both smile.

Henry turns on Dr. Frankland accusing him of killing his father. Then the dog begins to move again, and as John shoots it, the older man runs away, stepping on and activating a land mine as he does so. With a final, resigned sigh, he lifts his foot and is gone.

The next morning Sherlock finds John eating breakfast outside and they discuss the case. John asks him what happened in the lab, slowly coming to the realization that Sherlock drugged - or, rather, _thought_ he had - him on purpose. Out of frustration, John forces him to admit that he was wrong since it wasn’t in the sugar at all, and Sherlock sheepishly does.

Sherlock then walks over to speak with inn keeper Gary and the screen goes black.

It comes back to show Moriarty and Mycroft. The consulting criminal is escorted out of a cell where “Sherlock” is written over and over on every available space. The credits roll.

“Bloody _Mycroft_ ,” Holmes seethes at the end.

“I still don’t understand how he could do that; give you up like that, his own _brother_.”

“Sentiment has never been a strong suit in our family. If there’s something to be gained, we acquire it by whatever means is necessary. I am constantly a card in his hand that he has no qualms playing.”

Watson grits his teeth, “Yeah, well…” he trials off, nowhere to go with it.

Holmes hums and stands to switch out DVDs.

“On to the next,” he says, plopping back down.


	7. The Reichenbach Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's safe to say that I'm in the majority when it comes to this episode giving me too many feels at the beginning and the end.
> 
> Holmes and Watson realize it, too, and start to have to face how their (Holmes') past actions have affected them (Watson), and how it's changed their relationship overall.
> 
> This is also the longest chapter, so...enjoy that!

Once the main screen loads, they both sit and simply stare at the title of the episode for a good minute.

Watson inhales deeply suddenly, as though awoken from a daze, “So…time for this one, then.”

“Yes,” Holmes nods, reluctant to watch it himself.

Watson is nervous about watching it because he doesn’t want to relive the pain and see all the signs that he missed to prevent this from happening in the first place.

Holmes is nervous about watching it because he’s not fond of being reminded of the pain he put Watson through, much less from this outsider perspective.

Holmes, with remote in hand, locks eyes with Watson. It’s a question…a request for permission. Watson merely nods and turns to the screen, breathing deeply to steady his nerves.

It starts in abruptly, John talking to his therapist.

Watson leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees and his hands over his mouth, “Oh my God,” he whispers in horror.

Holmes is confused by the reaction; he obviously wasn’t involved in this conversation so doesn’t know where this is going. He watches avidly as John becomes choked up, unable to speak past his tears. He tries to start ( **“Sher…”** ) but falters. Clears his throat and forces the words around the lump in his throat.

**“My best friend, Sherlock Holmes, is dead,” he whispers and then turns his face away as his features contort in to despair.**

“Oh my God,” it’s Holmes’ turn to whisper. Without thinking, he places his left hand over his mouth in shock, his right blindly reaching out to Watson and grasping his left forearm strongly. Holmes turns to look at him, but Watson’s eyes are glazed over with painful memories and he doesn’t notice, “My dear Watson,” Holmes whispers to him, a portrayal of his loss for adequate words.

Watson merely shakes his head, not looking from the opening credit sequence. He feels as though he doesn’t breathe until they’re over and they’re transported three months prior, where Sherlock Holmes is still alive.

It appears to be the snippet of the end of a case, where Sherlock is being thanked for his help in recovering the painting of _Falls of the Reichenbach_. He is given a box as a gift which he deduces contains diamond cufflinks and he callously points out that all his cuffs have buttons. John translates his dismissal in to polite human for the gifter, forcing Sherlock to say “Thank You” himself.

“Why do I allow you to make me approachable?” Holmes asks, as this exchange did happen for them, as well, and many more similar ones throughout the years.

“Because secretly you want to be,” Watson replies.

But Holmes knows that isn’t it at all. Anyone else who has tried to make him more personable has always been belittled in return; he’s only ever allowed Watson to do it. Why? Because Watson is a special case all his own, in many respects, which is what has led Holmes to acknowledge that he is in love with the other man. There’s no other explanation for it.

Next scene, Sherlock (and John) are being thanked by a family who has been reunited because of their hard work. Sherlock is given a tie pin, though he doesn’t wear ties. John shushes him again.

Greg is in front of a room full of people, thanking Sherlock (and John) for their services to helping catch a high interest criminal that’s been at large since 1982. Greg walks over and hands Sherlock a present: a deerstalker. Sally Donovan and Philip Anderson can’t quite contain their glee at the sight of him placing it on his head at John’s demand. He forces a smile.

 _‘Anything to make John Watson happy, eh, Sherlock Holmes?’_ Holmes muses to himself.

Sherlock and John are back in 221B with John reading the paper. Sherlock bemoans his “boffin” moniker, and John becomes frustrated with his own: “bachelor”. John tells him that he needs to work on staying out of the news by taking smaller cases so that the press doesn’t turn on him. For a man who has spoken the words **“I’m a private detective - the last thing I need is a public image”** he seems extremely unconcerned by his nearness to fame. Sherlock questions why John cares what people think of him, but he avoids the question.

“Why _do_ you care?” Holmes asks.

“Are you honestly telling me that you don’t know the answer to that yourself?” Watson asks, truly confused. It’s terribly obvious, isn’t it?

“There are a few reasons I can think of, but I don’t know which is correct,” he admits.

“Probably all of them, knowing you,” Watson admits, fighting a blush, “but not least of which is that ultimately it’s _our_ life. If they doubt you, they doubt me. If they scorn you, they scorn me.” Of course there’s also the part where no one likes to see the one they love torn down, but he’s not about to say that aloud.

Holmes looks at him as though he can hear the underlying reasoning as well and simply mutters, “Oh,” quietly.

Next scene is Moriarty just outside the Tower of London.

John comes out of the bathroom in just his robe and walks right past a hanging body in the living room to sit in his chair. Sherlock explains that their most recent case didn’t commit suicide as was apparent, the mannequin helped to prove it.

Moriarty enters the Tower of London and heads to the crown jewels. He places his earbuds in and Rossini’s _The Thieving Magpie_ begins to play. Flash over to the Bank of England and then Pentonville Prison – all three locations being shown at the same 11:00am. Back to Moriarty with the jewels; he clicks an app on his phone, seemingly setting off their alarm system and taking out a guard, leaving him alone in the room.

Sally collects Greg – eating a donut – who claims that a break-in isn’t their division.

“Then really, what _is_ their division?” Holmes asks snidely.

“Homicide, you know that,” Watson admonishes.

Holmes tuts and waves a dismissive hand, “Well they are clearly inept at it; might as _well_ try a different division.”

Watson rolls his eyes.

Moriarty clicks a second app on his phone, seemingly opening the vault in the Bank of England. Sally gets the call as they’re driving regarding it. Moriarty calmly writes “Get Sherlock” in silver marker on the glass before clicking a third app on his phone, seemingly letting down the security of the prison. Sally gets another call about this one, as well.

Gum on the glass, diamond inside it. A little dance and a fire extinguisher to the diamond later, and he’s in.

Greg, Sally, and some more police officers arrive at the Tower of London to find Moriarty inside the glass case, wearing the crown jewels and sitting on the throne. He cheekily proclaims that there was no rush.

Back at 221B, Sherlock’s phone receives another text. John looks at it for him, his face falling as he sees who it’s from: Moriarty. John, just as Watson had been, is none too thrilled by the idea of the mad man making his next moves with Sherlock. And why would he? He ended up strapped to a bomb volunteering to die with his best friend last time the man came around.

They arrest Moriarty and watch the footage of him breaking in. The screen flashes newspaper articles detailing the event.

“God, the way he’s put this whole thing together is almost masterful if it weren’t so twisted,” Watson admires begrudgingly of the “show”.

“He certainly appears to have spent a great deal of time on it.”

“Do you think our Moriarty did something like this?”

“I’ve thought about it, but I honestly don’t think he did. This Moriarty is…different somehow.”

“More certifiably insane, you mean?” Watson offers.

“Yes, his eyes are a bit more obviously laced with mania.”

Sherlock and John get ready to head to Moriarty’s trial where Sherlock is the chief witness. They don’t speak until right before heading to the street and the waiting police car. John leads Sherlock through the paparazzi like a bodyguard.

Moriarty is being led by police to the court room.

Back to Sherlock and John in the cab where John is giving him advice, which Sherlock appears to be ignoring.

**“I’ll just be myself.”  
“Are you _listening_ to me?” John asks in exasperation.**

Watson laughs and Holmes looks at him crossly, “It’s not _that_ humorous.”

“Yeah it is,” he says through a chuckle.

Cut to news reporters outside of the court house. Inside, Moriarty asks a female officer to reach a piece of gum in his pocket for him.

A shudder passes through Watson at the slimy move and Holmes makes a face of disgust, the feelings of mirth from before completely washed away.

Sherlock is washing his hands in the restroom when a female journalist comes in.

“How does that even happen? Aren’t there people around?” Holmes questions, confused by this variant from their own timeline. He met Kitty, certainly, but it wasn’t in a men’s restroom, for crying out loud.

“Determination?” Watson offers, fixated on the scene.

Kitty Riley is claiming at first to be a fan who would like to bed Sherlock, but he quickly deduces that she’s a journalist coming up quickly on a deadline and she rapidly drops all pretenses. Sherlock denies her an interview before she even asks and heads for the door, but she follows.

 **“You and John Watson. Just platonic? Can I put you down for a no there, as well?”**  
**Sherlock merely stares at her, not voicing a counter to the statement.  
“There’s all sorts of gossip in the press about you. Sooner or later you’re going to need someone on your side. Someone to set the record straight.”  
Sherlock smirks, as though hearing it in a completely different way.  
“You think you’re the girl for that job, do you?”**

“I’m sorry, did Sherlock just make a sexual orientation innuendo?” Watson asks.

Holmes is smirking, “Oh yes,” he says with pride.

“Does Sherlock Holmes need setting straight?” Watson asks honestly, but with a joking air. They haven’t broached the subject of his sexuality since their first visit to Angelo’s.

Holmes rolls his eyes, “As though ‘gay’ is a warped state of mind to be saved from?” He asks with scorn, “No, no need to be set straight.”

“But you _are_ gay then?” Watson presses.

“If one must place a label on it, that’s probably the closest,” he admits and they fall silent.

On screen, Sherlock is deducing the rough time at work that Kitty’s been having with increasing amounts of disdain. He ends with a scathing **“You repel me”**. In the court room, Sherlock is answering the questions required of him, but is also trying to lead the barrister in her inquisition. In the end, he mostly just succeeds in talking Moriarty up, annoying the jury, and then getting himself placed in jail for contempt after not being able to stop being a smartarse.

Sherlock and John discuss the case back at 221B, walking through all the details that they already know. John scolds Sherlock for doing the “We both know what’s really going on here” face.

“Do I make that face?” Holmes asks.

“Yes.”

“And it annoys you?”

“Yes.”

They watch Sherlock and John’s exchange for a few more moments before Holmes speaks up again.

“It’s a compliment, you know,” he admits quietly, referring to his and Sherlock’s assumptions that John Watson is following along on the same page.

Watson smiles broadly as he replies, “I know.”

The scene jumps forward to Moriarty’s verdict. Sherlock is not allowed back in the building, but John is there to be his eyes and ears. Sherlock somehow quotes the judge as though he’s there. The jury rules that Moriarty is innocent and he is released from custody.

After Sherlock hangs up with John, who called to tell him the news and warn him, he gets up and begins to prepare tea for two, then picks up his violin to play some Bach. Moriarty attempts to sneak up on Sherlock, but isn’t familiar with the tricky steps and where to avoid making a noise. Sherlock is cordial to the criminal, offering him tea, allowing him to have an apple, and offering him the use of John’s chair. Moriarty instead takes Sherlock’s.

They discuss Bach’s supposed deathbed dealings before moving on to the real topic of discussion. Moriarty confesses that he intimidated the jury in to allowing him to go free by threatening the people they love. Sherlock asks how Moriarty plans to burn him, as promised, and the criminal taunts that he already told him how, he just wasn’t listening. They discuss the fact that Moriarty has a computer code that will allow him access to everything he ever desires. Their discussion ends with Moriarty promising Sherlock a fall that he owes him.

More flashes of newspaper articles detailing Moriarty’s release and speculation of how it even happened. Then a flash forward to two months later. John is at the ATM, having difficulties with his card, when an unmarked black car pulls up behind him and he gets in.

“Again!” Watson exclaims, “Merely a shake of the head and there I go in to some random car once more.”

“Do you finally see why this is an issue?”

“Yeah, I’m getting it.”

“Good.”

John goes in to The Diogenes Club and begins asking for Mycroft.

“Oh, you really shouldn’t have done that,” Holmes admonishes Watson.

“Yeah, I got the message quite clearly shortly after starting my shouting,” Watson laughs, speaking the words as John is being dragged bodily in to Mycroft’s office, “But really, if there are certain rules for me to follow wherever the random black car takes me, a note describing that would be helpful.”

“Yes, he should have been more courteous to you in that regard,” Holmes smirks.

Mycroft and John talk about Kitty’s article written off of testimony given by Richard Brook, a name neither has heard before. Then Mycroft pulls out a few files with information on international assassins that have moved in surprisingly close to 221B. He asks John to keep an eye on Sherlock for him, because who else could have placed these killers so close but Moriarty? And besides, Sherlock won’t accept help from his older brother and John is already doing such a good job of it.

John takes a cab back to 221B ( **“Nice of him not to supply you with an escort back home,” Holmes quips sarcastically** ) to find an unmarked envelope on the front step. He opens it to find bread crumbs.

“Not your brightest moment, Watson.”

“Oh shut up.”

“It could have been poison. Or a bomb. Or anthrax.”

“I said _shut up_.”

John makes his way up to the flat to find Greg and Sally there with Sherlock. A kidnapping has occurred, the children of the English ambassador to the U.S. Taken from their boarding school, the ambassador requested Sherlock’s help specifically. The angle changes to a different camera, black and white, probably a security model.

Watson reaches for the remote and pauses the shot from this new camera.

“We swept the flat for all bugs and cameras after Moriarty’s death,” Holmes attempts to sound reassuring, but he’s not confident that they found the one being shown on the screen any more than Watson is.

“Right,” he agrees, but they sit simply staring at each other for a few long moments before standing simultaneously and going over to their bookshelves on the far wall, searching them in earnest.

“Nothing here,” Watson says, hands on his hips and turning to look at Holmes to his right.

“No, nothing here either.”

Watson debates voicing his nagging fear aloud, but he knows that Holmes won’t judge him; may even be thinking the same thing, “That _should_ be a comforting revelation.”

Holmes nods in an understanding way, his eyes falling to the floor instead of his friend’s nervous ones. They make their way back to the sofa and resume the “show”.

The group of four arrives at the boarding school and immediately begin speaking to the House Mistress. Sherlock throws her shock blanket from her shoulders and demands to hear her story, then softens at the end of it and admits that he believes her, but he merely wanted her to speak quickly.

Up in the girls’ dormitory, Sherlock finds an unmarked envelope with a red wax seal – same as the one John found earlier – and withdraws a book of fairy tales from it. They make their way to the boys’ dormitory and discover that he had hidden by his bed to attempt to avoid the intruder, writing “Help us” on the wall in linseed oil, as well as tracking it on his shoes. The boy liked crime stories so knew of the trick with linseed oil and black lights. They follow the footsteps down the hall until the oil ran out and the footsteps no longer show. As Sherlock collects a sample of the oil, John admonishes him for his timing of good cheer.

At this point in their friendship, John Watson no longer needs to say the words “Not good”, nor is he surprised or appalled by the antics of his best friend, Sherlock Holmes. They’ve both become accustomed to gentle societal reminders and move on with ease.

In a cab on the way to a lab in St. Bart’s, Sherlock and John discuss how the kidnapper got past the security cameras (sneaking in at the right moment and lying in wait). When they reach St. Bart’s, they rope Molly in to allowing them access to a lab. No matter if it’s John or Molly helping him with something, Sherlock thanks them as John. If he’s talking aloud about anything, it’s to John, even if the shorter man cannot hear him. Slowly, the particles in the shoe prints present themselves, allowing, later, for the location of the children to be narrowed down.

Molly starts talking about her dad and Sherlock tries to stop her. But she keeps going about how he pretended to be fine when people were looking while he was dying, but when they weren’t…

**“You look sad. When you think he can’t see you.”**

Holmes takes a quick intake of breath. He wishes he could have stopped Watson from seeing this part.

“Holmes, I…” Watson starts quietly, shocked by the revelation, “I never knew.”

“That was rather the point,” Holmes grits out past his teeth.

“Why?”

“Oh, what’s it matter?” He asks with a touch of anger, “You were preoccupied being happy with Mary and I barely got to see you. It was like being alone all over again.”

“So why were you sad while I was near?”

It takes him a second to gather his courage before he whispers, “Because you were just going to leave again.”

“Oh,” Watson says quietly.

John is looking at evidence pictures and recognizes the wax seal from the envelope he picked up earlier. Sherlock makes the connection to the tale of Hansel and Gretel and the poisoned chocolate they must be eating. Sherlock, with the aid of his homeless network, discovers the location of the children. They arrive at Addleston and bring the children in to the police department for questioning.

Sherlock and John move to question the little girl once Greg and Sally have finished, but the little girl starts screaming as soon as she sees Sherlock, planting the first seed of doubt in a few minds. As Sherlock peers out the window, lights across the way come on to reveal I.O.U. painted on the windows. When they leave the station, Sherlock gets in the cab alone, leaving John to catch his own.

Sally is looking at the evidence, wondering at how convenient it is that Sherlock knew precisely where to find the children.

Sherlock is in the cab when the mini telly starts to show Moriarty telling a tale about Sir Boast-A-Lot, which ends up being a story about how Moriarty is poisoning the minds of those around Sherlock in to believing that he’s the bad guy instead of good.

Back to Sally where she’s explaining to Greg exactly how she’s believing the story that Moriarty is weaving (without realizing it herself). Greg doesn’t seem convinced because, like John, he knows that Sherlock may be socially inept, but he doesn’t have it in him to commit the crimes he solves.

The story on the mini telly ends and Sherlock demands to get out of the cab, only to find that Moriarty was driving him the entire time. One of the international assassins pulls him from the street before he can be hit by a car, then is shot after shaking hands with him. John’s cab pulls up seconds later and he runs out.

The paramedics show up and place the assassin in the rig as John explains his most recent visit with Mycroft to Sherlock. They rush home and Sherlock tries to discover what it is that Moriarty told these killers he has that would cause them to paradoxically keep him safe. He discovers a security network nearby, asks Mrs. Hudson about the last time she dusted, and finds the camera near one of the books.

Greg shows up, politely asking Sherlock to report to the station with him for questioning. He refuses, explaining that he will not play Moriarty’s game (for once). They leave, Sherlock and John discussing, once more, about caring for the public perception of Sherlock. Sherlock doesn’t care what anyone thinks until he thinks that John is beginning to doubt him himself. That, apparently, is too much.

“You have truly never doubted me?” Holmes asks seriously.

“You’ve never given me cause to,” Watson replies easily.

“Not even during this debacle? There was never a shred of doubt, a nagging voice saying that I was a fraud?”

Watson stares in to Holmes’ eyes for a minute, much as John just got through doing on screen, and answers honestly, “A split second it tried, but it wasn’t a viable enough thought to take hold. You have to remember that from the moment we met you were doing these things; you had done nothing different during this case than any other, so to believe you had committed this one would have meant you committed the rest.”

Holmes quirks a half smile, “Did Mary think I was a liar?”

Watson chuckles once, looking at the floor with a small smile, “No. She thought you were certifiably insane, and me for following you, but she believed in you.”

Back on screen Greg, Sally, and Anderson are heading out with a warrant to arrest Sherlock, Chief Inspector in tow. Mrs. Hudson comes in to the flat to deliver a parcel from earlier: same envelope and red wax seal, a burnt gingerbread man cookie inside.

The cops arrive and Sherlock places his scarf and coat on in preparation. He doesn’t fight the arrest but John does, pleading his case to Greg who, though on the same side as John, can do nothing but follow the orders that have been given to him. Greg walks down with Sherlock and Sally talks to John about how she always saw this coming. The Chief Inspector then enters and refers to Sherlock as “a bit of a weirdo” and John is forced over the line.

“I still can’t believe you punched the Chief Superintendent just because he called me a weirdo,” Holmes admires with a smile.

Watson shrugs with a smile of his own, “It was the last insult in a long line. He just took the brunt of my frustration with everyone.”

 **“Bit awkward, this.”**  
**“No one to bail us.”  
“I was thinking more about our imminent and daring escape.”**

“Wait,” Watson says in confusion, as if hearing the words for the first time, “does that mean you weren’t going to try to escape until I got arrested, too?”

“Who _would_ bail us out if we were arrested?” Holmes asks his own question instead of answering Watson’s.

“Holmes.”

“Lestrade, I assume,” he answers his own question.

“Holmes!” Watson scolds.

Holmes performs a suffering sigh, “Oh alright, fine! No, I had fully intended to go quietly until you showed up,” he admits.

“Why would that make _any_ difference?” Watson asks with exasperation.

Holmes looks away, “What would have been the point of running alone?”

Watson desperately wants to point out how nice it would have been for Holmes to remember that before _faking his own death_ and disappearing for two years, but he can’t bring himself to.

Sherlock is pretending to kidnap John so that the police let them go.

Watson clears his throat, “Why _were_ we handcuffed together instead of separately?”

“No idea. Entire on-duty police force on our street, maybe they only had the one set of cuffs,” he says and they both laugh.

Sherlock and John run, hand in hand, from the scene. Pausing for breaths, jumping fences, and finally, nearly getting hit by a bus so that one of the assassins saves them and answers Sherlock’s initial question of why they keep trying to save his life. The computer key code is somewhere in 221B. The assassin is shot and they run to another alley, John grabbing Sherlock’s sleeve once they’ve stopped. They see a newspaper and are reminded of the tell-all story Kitty is about to run.

It doesn’t depict it on the “show” for some reason, but Holmes and Watson remember perfectly how they reached Kitty’s place.

“We’re lucky you have an uncanny ability to grab cabs as soon as you raise an arm,” Watson recalls fondly.

“And that was quick thinking on your part about me being your submissive sexual slave to explain the cuffs to the driver.”

They both laugh at the memory, “Oh god,” Watson wipes tears from his eyes, “he didn’t want to ask _any_ more questions after that.”

“Got us where we were going right quick, as well.”

Sherlock and John undo the cuffs once Kitty arrives home and begin to question her. While they’re talking, Moriarty enters the flat with groceries, claiming to be Richard Brook. It’s brilliant, really: the history that Moriarty was able to create in two months’ time. Brook has a TV show, his demeanor is completely different, and he’s even right handed, for crying out loud! Sherlock is enraged by the deceit happening, realizing how convincing this will be for the world as a whole and knows something needs to change. John is incensed by the changes for the same reason, not because it causes him to start to doubt.

At this point Sherlock separates from John, needing to do something on his own.

“No, this is different now,” Watson points at the telly almost accusingly, “we never separated.”

After realizing just how deranged Moriarty had become and how convincing his lie was going to be to the world, Holmes had requested that Watson leave the country with him until things blew over. Without a moment’s hesitation, Watson had agreed and they went to his home to let Mary know (too afraid of bugs on their phones to text or call) before heading off to Switzerland. Why Switzerland? Holmes had seen some breathtaking waterfalls during a previous case, and it was far enough away to feel comfortable, he hoped.

Holmes and Watson watch as Sherlock talks to Molly about having a suspicion he might die. She offers to help him. Meanwhile, John is back in Mycroft’s office, accusing him of leaking private details of Sherlock to Moriarty. Mycroft admits that it was the only way to get the information out of Moriarty that he had been seeking and John is affronted. He storms out, ignoring Mycroft’s attempts for John to tell Sherlock that he’s sorry.

“It was Mycroft?” Holmes asks with a hint of betrayal in his tone.

“In their dimension. Maybe not ours,” Watson attempts to console him, but neither man is certain it works.

John finds Sherlock at St. Bart’s simply sitting in a lab. They discuss where the key code may be hidden in 221B and Sherlock remembers the fingers of Moriarty’s hand tapping out a code on his knee. He texts Moriarty to meet him at St. Bart’s while John is turned away.

Time passes and John falls asleep. He’s awoken by his cell phone, someone calling to tell him that Mrs. Hudson has been shot. Sherlock refuses to come because he knows it’s a lie, a diversion to get him alone.

In their own past, Holmes and Watson had been walking to the Reichenbach Falls – Holmes wanted to show Watson the beautiful sight – when a young boy had come running after them. He was sent from the hotel they were staying at because a woman was injured – not bad enough to call an ambulance but urgent enough to see a doctor if they could. Watson had asked Holmes to come back with him but he wouldn’t, an odd feeling overtaking him that Moriarty had followed them here despite it all.

Sherlock gets a text from Moriarty and goes to the roof to meet him. Their discussion here is very similar to the one Holmes and he had when Moriarty appeared on the trail once Watson had gone. They both amounted to one thing: Sherlock Holmes must die to be able to save anyone he cares about.

Sherlock thinks he has Moriarty outsmarted, that if he can find that key code and erase Brook that he need not die at all. So Moriarty shoots himself in the head, leaving Sherlock no option but to jump so that the criminal’s remaining allies didn’t shoot John, Greg, or Mrs. Hudson.

Holmes had merely begun fighting bodily with Moriarty, growing closer to the ledge of the falls. He figured that he might be able to throw the other man in, leaving him able to live, or if nothing else he would be taking Moriarty down with him. He was resolved that if he were to die that he would ensure the safety of Watson in the process.

John gets back to 221B and discovers, just as Watson had when he returned to the hotel, that there wasn’t any medical emergency. The wave of fear knowing that he had left Sherlock Holmes alone, vulnerable to attack, sets John Watson back in to motion to return to his friend.

By the time Watson returned to the trail where he left him, all he could find were signs of a struggle leading to a sharp drop over the edge and in to the water below.

John, however, returns in time to find Sherlock on the edge of the roof.

“Oh my God, what is he doing?” Watson asks in horror, unable to believe what the evidence is showing him.

“John shouldn’t have come back,” Holmes intones with fear. Surely there’s no way Sherlock can follow through with what he needs to with John right there.

Sherlock gets John on the phone and directs him to where he needs to be. Holmes knows that there has to be some sort of plan, he wouldn’t really die in front of John. He had plenty of time to think of a plan or three, hadn’t he? While he waited for Moriarty to show up?

Sherlock and John look at each other from roof and street as Sherlock claims that it’s all true. John won’t listen, keeps saying that it can’t be.

“It’s not true!” Watson fumes, “What the hell does Sherlock think he’s doing?”

Holmes knows, with a drop of his stomach, that he’s trying to make his disappearance easier on John. When he fakes his death – as he’s certain Sherlock will do, same as he did – and disappears without a word, he thinks it’ll be easier for John if he believes the lies. He only wants John not to hurt. But Holmes can’t voice this answer, so he doesn’t voice one at all.

**“Nobody could be that clever,” Sherlock claims.  
“You could.”**

John Watson was maybe the first person to ever think so highly of Sherlock Holmes consistently; who never defaulted to thinking he was an uncaring arse who meant to hurt people. John Watson, in many ways, had saved Sherlock Holmes. Now it was his turn to do the same, and for the first time in his life, he put someone else before himself, without hesitation.

Sherlock and John reach out towards each other for the comfort that neither can provide at the moment.

 **“This phone call, it’s, um…it’s my note. It’s what people do, don’t they? Leave a note?”**  
**“Leave a note when?”**  
**“Goodbye, John.”**

Watson inhales sharply, his left hand reaches out blindly to grasp at Holmes’ right resting atop his leg. Holmes doesn’t even register that his own grips back tightly.

Sherlock throws the phone aside and prepares to jump.

“He’s going to make him watch?” Watson asks, appalled, eyes wide with hurt and anger.

“I would never have done that to you: made you watch,” Holmes swears, “it was bad enough I had to disappear for so long and leave you to think I was dead but to make you watch it…?” he trails off, unable to think of a more heartless, unspeakable thing to ever do to his best friend.

Watson’s hand tightens on his again as Holmes’ declaration finishes and Sherlock falls.

John runs forward, being knocked off balance by a cyclist, disorienting him. He gets up and continues to Sherlock, seeing his bloody face for the first time.

**“No, he’s my friend. He’s my friend. Please.”**

Holmes grips tighter to Watson.

John checks for a radial pulse but finds none, his knees giving out from under him. They place Sherlock on a stretcher and remove him, John repeating variations of “God, no” over and over. The sniper packs away his gun.

What must be the next day, Mycroft is reading a newspaper in The Diogenes Club that proclaims his brother’s death. He sets it down and places his hands to his lips, just as Sherlock tends to do when in thought.

John sits in his chair, staring listlessly at Sherlock’s a few feet away. It’s a scene that’s very familiar to Watson; he would often steal away to 221B for stretches of time. Mary seemed to understand, but in hindsight, she may have just been distracted by her own declining health.

Back to the therapist office, she asks John to put voice to the things he didn’t get to say before. He can barely get the words **“I’m sorry, I can’t”** out, much less any of the million words that have been left unsaid between him and his deceased friend.

Flash to John and Mrs. Hudson in a cab, heading to the graveyard. They talk near the grave about how angry they both are at him ( **“Yeah, listen, I’m not actually that angry, okay?”** ) before Mrs. Hudson leaves him alone.

Watson removes his hand from Holmes’ to be able to place the lower half of his face in his own hands once more instead. If John gives a speech like he himself had given…

Holmes sits more forward on the couch, hands clasped between his spread knees in an equal mix of anticipation and trepidation.

They watch in silence as John bares his soul to Sherlock’s grave, the same words that Watson had said. The same plea.

**“I was…I was so alone and I owe you so much. Oh, please, there’s just one more thing, one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don’t…be…dead. Would you, just for me, just stop it? Stop this.”**

John ducks his head as he allows himself to succumb to emotion, but quickly pulls himself back in to his straight soldier stance, nods his head in salute, and walks off.

The camera pans to show Sherlock standing a ways off in the graveyard before the end credits roll.

Holmes reaches to pause the credits, then looks back to find Watson glaring at him.

“Were you there?” Watson asks in that quiet tone that indicates true anger.

“I…” Holmes starts, not wanting to admit it.

“Holmes,” he uses his Captain voice, “Were. You. There?”

“I…yes,” he admits quietly.

“You asshole,” he spits at him, a look of utter betrayal in his eyes, “You complete and utter asshole.”

“Watson…”

He cuts him off, “You heard what I had said at your grave? You heard me beg and didn’t give enough fucks to come clean about what you were doing?”

“No!” Holmes raises his voice in indignation, “I was too far away to…”

“You knew Mary was dead by the time this happened,” Watson points to the screen, as though the incriminating scene were still visible.

“Yes, but…”

“And you _still_ couldn’t be arsed to let me know that at least _you_ were alive!” He yells, the pain from the old wound bubbling up without permission, “I begged you not to be dead. _You_. Not my wife, but you. Do you know how long I beat myself up trying to figure out what the hell that even means?”

Holmes is taken back by this realization. He had had no idea.

“What _does_ it mean?” Holmes asks quietly.

Watson merely shakes his head, the angry tears threatening to fall, before he stands and moves towards his room, “Sod it. We can finish the last discs tomorrow, I just can’t right now.”

“It’s only 8:30,” is the only response Holmes can think of.

“Yeah, well, I’m tired,” he bites out and doesn’t pause again until he’s in his room with his door closed.

“Watson!” Holmes yells after him, not wanting to leave it there. He hears the door close loudly and whispers, “I’m sorry, John,” though no one is around to hear it.


	8. The Empty Hearse

Watson descends the steps the following morning to find Holmes still sitting on the couch in a thinking pose. He by-passes him and makes his way to the loo before making tea for the two of them.

“We don’t have to continue on,” Holmes says cautiously from the entryway separating kitchen and living area, “If you don’t feel up to it, I mean.”

Watson turns, supporting his back against the counter as he looks at his friend. Holmes looks as though Watson is a skittish animal that is ready to bolt. He turns his head to the left to study a stain on the floor: a marker of some experiment gone wrong. With an odd sense of fondness, he thinks about how much he loves that stain – and the countless others just like it – nearly as much as he loves his life here with this man.

“No,” Watson says calmly still staring at the stain, “we’ve moved on from it and I want to see how they managed it.”

“Are you certain?” Holmes asks, genuinely not wishing to force the emotional strain on him for a second time.

The kettle boils and Watson makes the tea without a word. He brings the cups to the cluttered table and sets them down, “Will you sit?” He asks Holmes politely, taking his own seat.

Holmes sits, a bit wary.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” Watson starts, holding his cup and staring at his friend overtop of it, “and I appreciate the effort,” he smiles, and Holmes offers a shy one in return, “but the reality is that, while it was truly one of the worst times of my entire life, there’s no denying that it happened.”

“I am so sorry,” Holmes apologizes with both voice and sincere eyes.

“I know,” Watson assures with a small smile, “but do you see what you should have done now, in hindsight?”

Holmes looks down and away, the guilt flooding through him, “I couldn’t take you with me; you had a wife for us both to consider.”

“And when she died?” Watson asks quietly, “Why not then? Why not give me a reason to believe in something worth living for again?”

Holmes slowly meets his eyes again, a look of deepest despair resting in the chameleon depths, and he whispers in return, “I couldn’t ask you to run with me. Not after what I had done.”

“No,” Watson states easily, a steely resolve in his own blue gaze, “you never ask me again. From here on out understand this: you run, _I_ run.”

Holmes shakes his head, unable to believe what he’s hearing; the man before him is more than he could ever deserve after an entire lifetime of trying, “But…”

“No,” he cuts him off strongly, “there is no ‘but’. You try your damnedest not to give us cause to run, but know that if it comes to it, you aren’t leaving me behind again. That’s an order,” he adds in his Captain voice.

Holmes chuckles lightly and fights a smile, “Yes, Captain,” he mocks with mirth in his eyes.

For a moment they simply stare in to each other’s eyes, coming to the unspoken understanding that, platonic or romantic, _this_ is it: _this_ is the life they choose. Each has chosen the other and there are no more words to be said on the matter.

After what feels like an eternity, Watson nods and takes a sip of his tea, “Now, back to business, then?” He asks before beginning to stand from the table, Holmes following suit.

They start the next episode: _The Empty Hearse._

“Do they mean _The Empty House_?” Holmes asks, not entirely serious. Watson still flushes with affection at the knowledge that Holmes has memorized so many of the “ridiculous titles” he’s come up with throughout the years.

The first thing they see is what appears to be a retelling of Sherlock’s fall, but with truly horrendous action movie music in the background. They show Moriarty’s body being dragged away and a replica of Sherlock’s face pasted on instead. Sherlock jumps, bungee-cords back up, smashes through a window, and kisses Molly. Moriarty’s body is brought out of the building and placed on the sidewalk as Sherlock is shown walking calmly, remorselessly, out of St. Bart’s.

Greg shouts **“Bollocks!”** at Anderson, who was telling this apparent story.

“The _hell_ did we just watch?” Watson asks.

“Apparently Anderson’s idea of how Sherlock is still alive.”

“Not a very sympathetic depiction,” Watson says with distaste.

“More James Bond than I actually am,” Holmes agrees, to which the other man looks at him with mouth agape.

“You haven’t deleted everything you know about Bond yet?”

Holmes shrugs, fighting a blush as he admits, “You like it,” before turning back to the telly.

Watson stares at the side of his face in shock for a few moments longer before he’s drawn back to the telly himself.

Flashes of news stories about how Richard Brook turned out to be fake and that Sherlock was not a fraud at all. His name has been cleared, but he’s still gone.

Cut to John – now with a moustache – standing at Sherlock’s grave again. Someone approaches and grabs his hand.

“Mary?” Watson whispers in shock. Holmes doesn’t respond.

Next, a man who looks like an interesting mix of Jesus and Weird Al Yankovich is running through a forest, is captured, and is then whipped in what appears to be a bunker. The man watching the thrashing is revealed to be Mycroft, and the whipped man none other than Sherlock.

“You…” Watson starts shakily when the opening credits begin, but has to swallow thickly before continuing, “that happened to you?”

“Yes,” he admits quietly, unable to look at his friend. He has hidden the scars all these years, but even Watson’s optimism can’t unsee what his doctor’s eyes must have surmised from the scene.

John is riding the tube, looking listless as he stares off at nothing as the world moves on around him. Finally he walks in to 221B and is bombarded with echoes of his past with Sherlock. His eyes shine with despair. Mrs. Hudson steps out in to the entranceway to see him standing there. Unable to speak, he merely clears his throat and offers a small wave of greeting.

Sherlock and Mycroft are talking in the elder’s office as Sherlock’s outrageous beard is shaved off.

“Of course you had a real barber straight razor your face. Who does that anymore?” Watson goads.

“At least I _shaved_ ,” he counters, pointedly looking at the result of Watson’s not shaving for the past few days.

Watson brings his hand to his face, rubbing the slight beard, “Hey, I make it look good,” he says with confidence.

Holmes scoffs, “Hardly.”

“You want I should grow a moustache like John?”

Holmes makes a horrified face of disgust, “No! But I do prefer my doctors clean-shaven.”

“Mmm,” Watson hums, feigning indifference to the statement as he makes a show of turning back to the telly, but is already contemplating shaving once this little marathon is over with. Honestly, the things we do for love.

They both watch as Mycroft claims his one undercover job as being arduous, tedious, and in honor of praise. Sherlock’s face speaks volumes about how much he wants to point out all that he went through over those two years himself; how he knows how hard going undercover is, how noisy, how dangerous…but instead he holds his tongue.

Mrs. Hudson is banging around her kitchen, showing her displeasure with John’s long absence from Baker Street. She gives him honest advice about the moustache aging him and he tries to be polite, knowing she’s still a bit hurt he hasn’t been emotionally able to return over the years. They talk about how hard it’s been for the both of them, how much things have changed over that time.

Sherlock and Mycroft continue discussing the imminent terrorist bombing, but all Sherlock cares about is getting back in to London and seeing John. Sherlock is handed a file and sees the picture of John with his facial hair for the first time.

**“Well, we’ll have to get rid of that. He looks ancient. I can’t be seen wandering around with an old man.”**

Holmes intones a soft, “Mmhmm,” to which Watson rolls his eyes.

John and Mrs. Hudson go upstairs to the flat and John has difficulty taking it in. Mrs. Hudson opens the dusty blinds; she couldn’t face letting it out, but she also couldn’t face going in and keeping it clean. John admits that he’s got some news and Mrs. Hudson immediately thinks he’s dying. He admits that he’s met someone and he’s finally moving on, prepared to ask them to marry him. Mrs. Hudson is at first confused about it being so soon after Sherlock, but then gets very excited.

 **“What’s his name?”**  
**“It’s a woman.”  
“A woman?”  
“Yes, of course it’s a woman.”  
Mrs. Hudson scoffs, “You really _have_ moved on, haven’t you?”  
“Mrs. Hudson, how many times? Sherlock was not my boyfriend.”**

“After all that time and no proof, Mrs. Hudson still thought they were a couple all along?” Watson asks incredulously.

“Clearly,” Holmes smirks as if he’s hiding a secret.

“Oh God, does _our_ Mrs. Hudson still think that?”

His smile broadens of its own accord, “Yes.”

Watson sighs heavily but makes no other response.

Mycroft informs Sherlock that John hasn’t been staying at 221B while he’s been gone, that he’s moved on with his life. Sherlock cannot comprehend this information, because what life could he have been having without him? He asks Mycroft where he’ll be tonight; the elder Holmes claims for a moment not to know, but Sherlock knows better than to believe it. Mycroft warns him that he might not be welcome, but this is also incomprehensible to Sherlock. How could John not be happy to see him?

Sherlock walks in to the restaurant later that evening and pretends to be a waiter.

“What is this?” Watson asks.

“A truly dreadful plan,” Holmes says, deducing Sherlock’s thought process (supposedly sharing a brain with the man, it’s not that difficult).

Upon his return, Holmes had disguised himself as an old man and literally bumped in to Watson on the street, later following him home to reveal that he was back. It was a rather natural return, with a few shed tears of relief, very little animosity, and a lot of questions. They had spent the entire night catching up and, by the end of it, all ill feelings were placed aside by their elation of being together again.

This… _thing_ that Sherlock is planning is not going to work out the same way his own return did, Holmes can plainly see already. He wills his counterpart to not do this but to walk away and take some time to think of a new plan.

Sherlock is now pretending to be John’s waiter - with a fake French accent - and John is too caught up in his own head to notice. Sherlock walks away to get the champagne and Mary walks down the stairs to the table.

Watson inhales sharply to see the mirror image of his late wife come on screen. He was curious at the beginning of the “episode” when John mentioned getting married, but he had secretly hoped he wouldn’t have to see her on screen.

Holmes’ stomach drops when he sees her, more confident than ever that Sherlock needs to abandon this idiotic plan.

John smiles at her as she sits down and they talk briefly before John begins his proposal speech. It’s not the same speech Watson had given, considering the different circumstances and all, and it’s not very eloquent.

Sherlock returns with the champagne before John can officially ask her to marry him, and Holmes places his left hand on the side of his face, turning in to it with the shame of second-hand embarrassment.

It takes John a good few moments to recognize that it’s Sherlock standing before him, but when he does he freezes, unable to believe his eyes. Sherlock attempts to make light of the situation, but John is too pissed off to hear it. He stands, punching the table as Sherlock continues to joke, and speaks in the lowest, most dangerous tone that Sherlock Holmes has ever heard him speak in, yet his eyes speak infinitely louder than his words of the immense hurt he’s been through. Sherlock has never been good with his own emotions, much less other people’s, so he attempts another joke about John’s moustache to deflect. John tackles him to the ground, trying with all his might to strangle him.

They were kicked out of the restaurant after that ( **“Lucky they weren’t arrested,” Watson had quipped** ) and relocated to a small diner. Here, Sherlock goes immediately in to an explanation but John isn’t listening; he only wants to hear why he disappeared without a word. Why he let him grieve. Sherlock explains about who all knew that it was a ruse.

**“So just your brother, Molly Hooper, and a hundred tramps.”**

“Yeah, that line sounds familiar,” Watson muses with a wistful smile.

Sherlock corrects him that it was only 25 tramps, at most, and John leaps over the table to strangle him again. When they’re standing in an even smaller diner, it appears that John also punched him in the face, but Sherlock is still more concerned about if John is really planning to keep the moustache. John claims that Mary likes it - she doesn’t - and John becomes aggravated again.

“Mary would have hated my facial hair,” Watson points out.

“ _I_ hate your facial hair,” Holmes stresses once more.

“I don’t actually care,” Watson smiles sweetly at him.

John raves once more about how all he would have needed was one word to know that Sherlock was alive and he would have been okay with everything. Sherlock asks him to promise he won’t tell anyone he’s alive yet, and even amidst their yelling fight John promises without a second thought. Because it’s what they do: protect each other.

Sherlock then attempts to bring John in on the terrorist case he’s been assigned by Mycroft, but John is still a bit too salty to agree straight away. One more bout of Sherlock’s arrogance earns him a headbutt to the nose.

“Well, John is definitely more physical than you are; he sure is hitting Sherlock _a lot_ ,” Holmes muses.

“I should have hit you more,” Watson says serenely, then thinks about how he hadn’t so much as slapped him upon his return and amends his statement, “I should have hit you _at all_.”

“I appreciate you having restrained yourself from doing so; I was still recovering from my injuries while away.”

“Oh my God,” Watson whispers as realization dawns. Sherlock was taking punches and headbutts while sore, and being tackled to the ground with healing whip lashes on his back.

Sherlock talks to Mary as John hails a cab. He deduces her quickly and seems to be at peace with what he sees, but Watson’s brow creases. There is something fundamentally off about this Mary that makes her different from how his own wife had been. He can’t place it yet, but it gives him an ill feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Sherlock reveals that he’s alive to Molly (gasp and smile), Greg ( **“Oh, you bastard”** and a cuffing hug), and Mrs. Hudson (a quite impressive scream).

Then there’s another ridiculous flashback to Sherlock’s jump from the roof that makes no sense.

“How did Moriarty accomplish these shots?” Watson asks, “This isn’t stalker footage, this is a cinematic flashback. There’s no way Sherlock or John agreed to film this…is there?”

“I have no idea,” Holmes says honestly, confused by this aspect of it himself.

The scene ends just as Sherlock and Moriarty are about to kiss, then it cuts to a group - led by Anderson - that has apparently been thinking up these options of how Sherlock survived.

“What the _fuck_?!” Watson yells upon seeing the almost kiss.

“Calm down,” Holmes scolds, “Jesus. Look, it was just some girl’s imagination at work.”

Watson is still fuming with something very close to jealousy, which he won’t admit to, when their own Anderson walks in the door.

“Fighting again, I…” Anderson starts pompously but halts immediately upon seeing his visage on screen.

Holmes sighs before reaching forward and pausing the “episode” on a side-shot of Anderson and a group of others.

“What is this?” Anderson asks angrily, pointing at the screen.

“What are you doing here?” Holmes asks instead of answering. Their Anderson may not be as annoying as the one in the other dimension, but that doesn’t mean Holmes particularly enjoys his company.

“DI Lestrade sent me over,” he answers distractedly, not looking from the screen, “Neither of you has been answering your phones, so I was sent to check on you.”

Unlike this alternate Anderson, he really had nothing to do with driving Holmes to fake his death so is still working closely with New Scotland Yard.

“Sorry about that,” Watson apologizes for the both of them before standing to retrieve their phones from their respective bedrooms. When he reenters, Holmes is nearly done efficiently (read: quickly and impatiently) explaining about the DVDs.

“You just expect me to believe this, do you? How did you get this footage?” Anderson demands.

“Are you saying this happened?” Holmes asks in shock.

Anderson blushes slightly, “I knew you weren’t dead,” he claims, but Holmes merely raises a disbelieving eyebrow and he amends, “Well, I _thought_ you might not be. I had a few friends I’d discuss ideas with, but the group was never that large.”

Holmes looks at him in a considering way, as if he’s overlooked something about the other man all this time.

Anderson shifts from foot to foot uneasily before stammering, “Right, I’ll just leave you to it then,” and walks out the door.

“Wait! Did you need us for something?” Watson calls in confusion.

“Oh, it’s just a murder; doubt you’d find it interesting,” he shouts back to them, never faltering in his progress towards the front door. Before either man can say anything more, the door slams shut downstairs.

“Well that was fun,” Watson says sarcastically with a smile.

“Always is,” Holmes adds, then reaches to restart the “show”.

Mass texts of “Sherlock lives” and then they’re in a bedroom with Mary and John. Mary is reading from John’s blog as he lathers up in the bathroom. She teases him about shaving off the moustache.

 **“Are you going to see him again?” Mary teases.**  
**“No, I’m going to work.”  
“Oh, and after work are you going to see him again?”**

Watson sighs heavily, not even needing to mention why.

“Ten people,” Holmes tells him with a smile.

“Shut up.”

**“I don’t shave for Sherlock Holmes.”**

“See?” Watson points at the screen, as if John saying the words makes his own thoughts on the matter more valid.

“But he _is_ shaving for him,” Holmes points out calmly.

Watson crosses his arms and performs an honest-to-God pout, remembering that he’s already been planning to shave later. And if the look on Holmes’ face is anything to go by, he knows it, too.

Watson spares a moment to think about what it would have been like to have Mary around for longer than three weeks after Holmes’ “death”, or to have found her shortly after it like John had. How different would it have been to have her support through it all, instead of the distraction of her illness? God, the guilt he still feels, nearly three years after the fact, of having cared about Holmes’ death more than Mary’s is staggering.

“Where’d you go?” Holmes asks gently.

Watson comes out of his head to see his - _John’s,_ he corrects – unmoving hand reaching for the razor. His friend had paused it without his notice.

“Sorry?”

“Just now, you disappeared in to your mind. Where did you go?” Holmes expands kindly.

Watson studies his friend’s concerned face. He really can be rather sweet in his regards when he wants to be. He debates lying to Holmes, but knows it would never work, “I was thinking about what it would have been like to have Mary around for longer after you…left.”

He’s silent for a few moments before he quietly says, “Oh.”

Watson sighs heavily as he scrubs his hands over his face, “It was easier to lose her than you,” he admits, barely above a whisper, for the first time.

“Watson…”

“No, it _was_ ,” he states firmer, looking in to Holmes’ eyes resolutely, “I’m not saying it was _easy_ to lose her, and the cancer took her quick, but at least I had a warning and time to come to terms with it. But with you…” he trails off, eyes casting down to the floor once more, “you were just _gone_ ,” he whispers, sounding utterly broken.

Holmes doesn’t know what to say and, for once, wisely decides to say nothing at all. Instead, he raises a hand to guide his friend’s face towards his so that he has to look him in the eye, where he portrays all of his regrets and echoing sadness.

Watson breathes deep, “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, losing the two people who meant the most to me in such a short span of time. I wanted to give up so many times,” he closes his eyes briefly as he swallows, then opens them to admit one last thing: “But I knew - even dead - that you would call me an idiot for being so weak, so I pushed on.”

“I’m glad you did,” Holmes whispers, eyes prickling with tears at the thought of nearly having lost his best friend, “Thank you,” he adds sincerely.

Watson chuckles at the oddity of being thanked for such a thing, his face lowering naturally and rubbing his cheek on the other man’s hand still cupping his face.

“Ugh, the beard _really_ must go,” Holmes says playfully as he pulls his hand from the grating bristles, “honestly, Watson.”

Through the tears that don’t fall, they smile at each other affectionately, unspeakably glad to have the other in their life.

Sherlock uses the wall of 221B as a web map of rats and the sofa as a stepping stool to access it. Mycroft swings by the flat to enquire about how the case is coming along, but Sherlock doesn’t really have any answers except that he’s watching some people. They then begin talking about their childhood and how other people are idiots and dull.

Mrs. Hudson enters the flat on the screen, extremely pleased to have Sherlock back on the premises. She makes a few quips before exiting and leaving the boys to play deductions with a random hat left behind by a client.

“Is _everything_ a competition between you two?” Watson asks in exasperation.

“Yes,” Holmes deadpans, “always has been.”

John is at work with Mary. She appears to be his receptionist, which is different than Watson’s Mary who was a dental receptionist.

Mrs. Hudson tells Sherlock to talk to John. Sherlock says John's position was quite clear.

John, seemingly giving the middle finger as he puts his glove on to examine the undescended testicle of a patient.

Mrs. Hudson asks what John said.

**“F…” Sherlock starts, then an abrupt switch to John saying “Cough”**

Molly arrives at the flat per Sherlock’s request to help him out with cases as John continues to see more patients. Both appear a bit bored by their routines. In fact, John is longing for something interesting so intensely that he actually accuses a patient of being Sherlock in disguise, trying to pull his beard off, but it’s real.

Sherlock and Molly head to a case in the basement of a building where a skeleton sits at a desk. It turns out to be nothing more than an old display setup of Jack the Ripper, but throughout it, Sherlock keeps hearing John’s voice in his head and he responds aloud.

“Did you really do that?” Watson asks.

Holmes rolls his eyes, “No, you didn’t avoid me like John is doing, remember? We started working on cases again right away.”

They watch as Sherlock keeps hearing John’s voice in his head.

“He misses him,” Holmes observes, feeling a pang of sadness for his counterpart, “that’s why he keeps imagining him speaking: he wants John to be a part of cases again.”

Watson can’t bring himself to respond, because all he can think to ask is: “They love each other, don’t they?” because how _can_ they, right? Watson wasn’t in love with Holmes while he was married to Mary; he admired him, sure, but he didn’t allow himself to fall until after his return.

Sherlock and Molly go to the flat of the client who left his hat. Sherlock returns it and then discusses the security footage of one of Sherlock’s rats/markers on the tube, somehow disappearing between one stop and the next.

Meanwhile, John is oscillating on the pavement outside 221B, debating if he enters or not. When he finally decides to, someone bumps in to him, distracting him as another man sneaks up and injects him with something in the neck.

“The fire,” Watson breathes in remembrance.

Holmes nods, “I had just gotten you back and already you were kidnapped.”

“Notice how the three times I’ve been kidnapped it was _not_ because I got in to an unmarked, random black car?” Watson smirks.

“Coincidence,” Holmes waves off.

Sherlock and Molly leave the client’s flat and part ways with the agreement that such a day will not happen again. Watson wants to add that it won’t happen again because Sherlock has John and doesn’t need Molly, in any way whatsoever, but tamps it down because of how jealous it sounds.

Watson reminds himself that he has nothing to be jealous of: this never happened in their timeline because, as has been referenced, they were already solving crimes together again. Seeing John fight Sherlock and holding his ground makes Watson feel like a pushover. But then he glances at Holmes and knows that he wouldn’t have done it any other way; two years was more than enough time apart, he certainly didn’t need to extend it to prove a point.

John wakes up in the unlit bonfire - groggy, disoriented, and unable to move - and attempts to call for help but can’t.

Mary gets a text about John being in the fire and immediately goes to find Sherlock to help. She mentions that she recognized it to be a skip code and Sherlock gives her a brief calculating look before focusing again.

“Do you know what a skip code is?” Watson asks, the same weird feeling about this version of Mary in the pit of his stomach as before. He doesn’t trust her.

“Of course; that text was sent to me in our timeline and I deciphered it easily enough.”

“Well, I don’t know what it is and I’d consider myself to be an average human being.”

“A skip code is…” Holmes starts in his lecture tone.

Watson lifts his left hand to stop him and shakes his head slightly, “No, that’s not the point I’m trying to make,” Holmes gives him a quizzical look, “Doesn’t it seem odd to you that Mary would know it?”

Holmes considers, “There _is_ something oddly different about this version of Mary, if that’s what you mean.”

“It is what I mean,” Watson says with relief, glad he’s not the only one feeling it, “so what’s different?”

Holmes shrugs, “Don’t know yet, but I get the feeling that I’m not going to like it.”

Watson hums in agreement.

When they look back at the telly, Sherlock and Mary have just arrived at the correct location and Sherlock does not hesitate to pull John from the burning fire. When John’s eyes are finally able to focus, they’re on Sherlock and not Mary.

Flash forward to the following day, Sherlock is in 221B listening to his parents (mostly mother) blathering on about inane details until John walks in the door.

“I still can’t believe you didn’t let me meet your parents while they were here,” Watson admonishes.

“They’re nothing spectacular,” Holmes lies. He secretly holds his parents in high regard, even if they do tend to smother him occasionally.

“I’ve met them now, and they are remarkable people,” Watson negates before goading him, “and I think you’re smart enough to know that.”

Holmes fights a smile, but he’s decidedly pleased that his friend finds his parents endearing, even if he himself refuses to outwardly admit that he agrees.

John gets Sherlock to admit that his parents knew that he had faked his death, thus explaining their absence from the funeral, and Sherlock shouts out an apology. Then he apologizes again, more sincerely this time, before moving on fairly quickly to the now-absent moustache.

**“No, I prefer my doctors clean-shaven.”**

Holmes laughs, “Must be a universal opinion of Sherlock Holmes’ everywhere.”

“Alright already, I get it! The beard is coming off later, you berk!” Watson attempts to sound peeved, but can’t quite hide his amusement.

Holmes smiles triumphantly.

John asks Sherlock who it was that kidnapped him the night before, and Sherlock admits that he doesn’t know. Instead, he explains more about the imminent terrorist attack to John and his map of rats on the wall. Rat number 1 - Lord Moran - is the man who got on to the tube but was never seen getting off. Sherlock realizes that it’s not an underground network, it’s an Underground network, then notices that the security footage shows seven train cars leaving Westminster and only six arriving at St. James.

So the last tube was detached somewhere along the way. Why? Because it’s the weapon. They remember the date and make the connection to the infamous attempt of Guy Fawkes all those years ago. They contact the hat client from earlier, with all of his train knowledge, who discovers that there is, in fact, a stop between Westminster and St. James that was never opened. The boys head there straight away.

“I didn’t much care for this case,” Watson recalls.

“Really? I found it rather interesting.”

“Of course you did. Any case where I nearly get blown up - and I think we can agree that there have been more than necessary - really leave a sour taste in my mouth.”

“I forgot about that part,” Holmes admits.

“Just because it didn’t happen doesn’t mean it didn’t _almost_ happen.”

Sherlock and John find their way on to the abandoned car, looking for the explosives which they finally discover under the seat padding; the entire thing is set to explode as a giant bomb and Sherlock claims not to have informed anyone they were down there before they arrived (which is a lie).

Conversely, one of the first things Holmes had done on their way to the scene was to contact his brother and get the ball in motion.

Sherlock discovers the heart of the bomb under a section of the floor, but doesn’t know how to diffuse it. John demands he enter his Mind Palace to see if he’s stowed the information away somewhere. He hasn’t, but he does realize that there must be an off switch somewhere. He doesn't tell John this.

“Why is Sherlock lying? Surely he discovered the off switch like you did,” Watson questions.

“I…I think he’s seizing the moment to patch things up with John,” he says slowly.

“What, by making him think they’re about to die?!” Watson is once more offended on behalf of his counterpart, “Jesus. Sherlock is almost worse at this friendship thing than you are!”

His mouth drops in indignation, “I beg your pardon? I am _much_ better at friendship than him. Clearly.”

“Because I forgave you right after your return without hitting or strangling you?”

“No, because I didn’t try to make a joke of my return. Because I apologized sincerely from the start. Because I didn’t lie about us nearly dying to force you to forgive me!” His voice rises steadily with each sentence until he’s looking intensely in to Watson’s eyes.

Watson’s lips are pursed and his eyes are a mix of apology and sadness, “I’m sorry,” he states, “You’re right.”

Holmes softens immediately, “I don’t know why Sherlock can’t seem to grasp what it is that John needs; maybe it’s Mary being in the picture and he’s not certain where he fits in himself now. I don’t know. But I assure you that it’s as insufferable for me to watch as it is for you.”

They silently turn back to the men on screen. Sherlock moves from a kneeling position on the floor to sitting in one of the seats. John stands a ways off, fighting with himself as he grabs on to the support poles. Sherlock apologizes for ruining his future with Mary and begs John to forgive him for everything. John is angry until he sees that Sherlock is holding back tears.

Suddenly, Holmes and Watson are even more grateful for the fact that they were able to come to an understanding that first night; that they were spared needing to go to these lengths to save one of the only things in their life _worth_ saving.

**“You were the best and wisest man that I have ever known. Yes, of course I forgive you.**

Sherlock looks touched by the words and forgiveness, and John steels himself for the blast that’s sure to come any second now.

Scene change to Sherlock talking to Anderson and a camera, detailing the Lazarus plan that resulted in his not dying after jumping off the roof of a building. Anderson isn’t quite convinced by the story, saying it could have been done better. While he’s working out the details that don’t quite add up, Sherlock sneaks out.

Back in the train car, the bomb still hasn’t detonated.

“Is he…Jesus Christ, is he _laughing_?!” Watson fumes.

“Jesus,” Holmes mutters, rubbing his face with both hands in a mixture of second-hand embarrassment and frustration, because Sherlock is, indeed, laughing. If he could slap his other self, he thinks he might gladly do it.

“What a cock!”

**“You cock!”**

“Why the _fuck_ can’t Sherlock stay serious when it comes to John’s feelings? Jesus!” Watson is still fuming, angry on John’s behalf.

And then it hits Holmes why Sherlock wouldn’t be able to stay serious, and it makes his stomach drop while his heart aches in sympathy. Of course, Sherlock Holmes has never been very good when it comes to emotions of his own and now, not only has he been in near complete isolation for two years with no friendly human contact, but he’s returned to find that his only true friend has moved on with a woman that he plans to marry. He keeps putting himself out there for John to show that he is truly sorry, but he’s terrified of letting it go too far. He’s in love with John but doesn’t dare to let him see it. So he deflects with humor when their conversations become too deep, too close to the truth.

Holmes doesn’t voice any of this to Watson - he _can’t_ \- but simply shrugs with a shake of his head.

John keeps threatening to kill him, but Sherlock makes a joke about that being **“so two years ago”** and he can’t help but laugh. Suddenly somehow, incomprehensible to Holmes and Watson, they are okay again.

At the hotel, Moran tries to make his escape but is stopped by police at the elevator.

At 221B they’re having an engagement party for John and Mary (not something that Watson had done) and Molly walks in with her fiancé Tom. The entertaining parade of looks that cross John’s face say everything.

“Does Tom look…” Holmes starts slowly.

“Like you? Yeah,” Watson laughs.

Sherlock looks as disturbed by the revelation as Holmes is, and John just as entertained as Watson.

Sherlock and John head down the stairs to talk to the press.

**“I asked you to stop being dead.”  
“I heard you.”**

They exit the building to face a throng of reporters, then the screen fades out before fading back in. There’s a random looking room with a bunch of random looking things all around, then there’s a screen that shows Sherlock pulling John from the bonfire on a loop, Mary yelling his name. Then a pair of eyes, watching it avidly.

“Magnussen,” Holmes whispers with distaste.

The end credits roll.


	9. The Sign of Three

They see the title for the next “episode”.

“ _The Sign of Four_ ,” Holmes starts, “Our case where we met Mary.”

Watson merely nods in acknowledgement, unwilling to speak.

The screen flashes a newspaper article before zooming in on the front of a courthouse. Holmes and Watson spare another moment to admire the artfulness with which Moriarty assembled his footage, as though it were not someone’s real life.

Throughout the opening, Greg and Sally bemoan not being able to convict the Waters family for the crimes they’ve been committing, and decide that the only way it will happen is to catch them in the act. As they travel through time, they have finally set up a trap to do just that, but Sherlock keeps texting Greg asking for his help.

Greg rushes to 221B as he calls for maximum backup, thinking that Sherlock is dying, but is caught off guard to find that he simply needs assistance writing his best man speech.

Holmes and Watson immediately recognize the difference: when Watson had married Mary, it was a very small court affair and gathering in their home afterwards. While Holmes had been his witness (best man), there was no call for a speech to be given.

They glance at each other warily, uncertain about how such a large change - the largest yet - will alter the relationship of Sherlock and John yet further.

The sound of violin music. Mrs. Hudson brings tea up to Sherlock to discover that he’s not playing the violin (though it is a recording of himself) but instead waltzing to it. She makes his tea and they sit down to discuss John and Mary’s wedding happening later in the day. Sherlock seems unimpressed, insisting that nothing is being altered except titles, but Mrs. Hudson insists that marriage changes people.

She continues on, telling a story about her own best friend and chief bridesmaid who left the wedding early and how they never really saw each other after that. Sherlock appears agitated by the story and demands - quite firmly by the end - that she acquire him some biscuits. She leaves and Sherlock spends some time looking at John’s armchair with a saddened, contemplative look on this face before moving to his room to change.

**“Into battle.”**

Holmes shifts uneasily on the sofa, feeling that Sherlock is becoming extremely transparent about his feelings towards John, and worrying that Watson will question it. Will he then wonder if all Sherlock Holmes’ care for their John Watson romantically? What is he supposed to do if that happens? Lie and say that _he_ certainly isn’t in love with his best friend? He’s not sure he could do it.

Watson, on the other hand, has his brow furrowed, a nagging feeling at the edge of his brain just out of reach. He’s missing something, and he has a feeling that it’s something of import.

Next scene shows Sholto preparing for the wedding, then just as quick, everyone is exiting the church after the ceremony.

“They’re not even showing the wedding?” Holmes asks.

“Maybe Moriarty couldn’t get cameras in the church,” Watson offers distractedly, entranced by John and Mary. His Mary’s dress had been the same one, but his tux was different.

Holmes tuts in disappointment, “Watson,” he scolds for his lack of intelligence, “of course he could have if he had wanted to. Which leads me to think that the ceremony wasn’t the important thing.”

After voicing the opinion, he accepts it as truth. This entire collection of footage has been devoted to Sherlock and John, any women (of romantic interest or not) merely an accessory. Holmes is worried that Watson may have made this same connection after his statement, but one look at him proves that he is too distracted by John and Mary to have really heard him.

The wedding party takes pictures and the chief bridesmaid - Janine, whom Holmes and Watson have never met - hits on Sherlock who easily redirects her attention to other men around her with his deductions. Next shows the wedding party welcoming people in to the reception hall. While Mary’s three bridesmaids stand behind her, uninvolved, Sherlock stands directly to John’s left and interacts with guests as they enter.

“That’s a bit of a weird choice,” Watson says, eyes calculating again.

“Oh please,” Holmes tries to stop Watson from reading too much in to it and stumbling upon the truth of his - _Sherlock’s_ he corrects - feelings, “You know you’d do the same; I’d get far too bored and start causing trouble if you didn’t keep an eye on me.”

Watson laughs, “Too right you would,” and seems appeased by that reasonable take on the situation.

There’s a flashback to Sherlock telling David that he needs to limit his interactions with Mary from now on so that he’s not a threat to John or his happiness. You know, like all good friends do when their best friend gets married. Right.

Next a woman and her son approach the trio and the little boy immediately runs to hug Sherlock, who awkwardly accepts it and pats him on the head. Flashback to Sherlock talking to Archie in 221B about his duties as ring-bearer before showing him photos of murders.

“Oh yeah, brilliant,” Watson rolls his eyes, “show a child a picture of maggots in some dead person’s eye.”

Holmes shifts his eyes as he tries to think of why one shouldn’t, but simply says, “ _I_ didn’t do it.”

Watson fights a smile with a knowing glint in his eyes, “But you _would_ ; you have no idea why that would be a bit not good, do you?”

Holmes smiles because Watson isn’t judging him for it, “Absolutely no idea,” he admits and they both laugh.

Quick scenes of different guests being photographed. Sherlock is still deducing random men for Janine. John and Mary are discussing how Harry didn’t show up (she didn’t to Watson’s wedding, either) and then Sholto arrives and John goes to chat with him and Sherlock moves to Mary.

“Did you invite Sholto to your wedding?” Holmes asks.

“May have if I had had the chance, but he’s dead,” Watson says lightly, not overly dramatic. He feels the same amount of pain and loss regarding Sholto’s death as any of his other fallen comrades. He liked the man, but wasn’t as close to him as John appears to be.

“Is Sherlock jealous of Sholto?” Watson asks.

**“Oh, Sherlock, neither of us were the first, you know.”**

“It would appear that that may be the case,” Holmes admits lightly, not drawing attention to the fact that Sherlock is _definitely_ jealous, though hiding it alright.

Sherlock moves away and calls Mycroft. Mycroft informs him that he won’t be coming to the reception and tells Sherlock that he warned him not to get involved. Sherlock denies being involved but Mycroft knows better. Judging by the look on his face, Sherlock does, too.

Everyone eats and then it’s time for Sherlock’s speech.

“Oh, this should be entertaining,” Watson says with an amused smile already in place.

“I’ve never been very big on public speaking if it doesn’t involve deductions, and I bet the same is true for him,” Holmes agrees.

Sure enough, Sherlock fumbles for words for the first few moments. Moriarty took this opportunity to place in flashbacks to others talking to each other about Sherlock needing to give a speech and read telegrams in front of a crowd if John asks him to be his best man.

John mutters about telegrams in a tone of dawning realization and Sherlock latches on to it as if it were a cue. He belittles the tradition of reading them before proceeding to quote the cards with complete disdain, then throwing the rest to the table one at a time.

Once done with that, Sherlock moves on to his speech, first broaching the topic of John asking him to be his best man. There’s a flashback as he describes it which shows Sherlock frozen, unable to properly process that he is John’s best friend.

Holmes rolls his eyes, “For God’s sake! That isn’t how it happened for me.”

“Are you kidding me? That is _absolutely_ how you reacted!” Watson laughs.

“Okay, but we had been friends for a drastically shorter amount of time; to imagine that I wouldn’t have been aware that I was your best friend by a year ago is absurd.”

Watson looks at him contemplatively, “No, I don’t think that’s true.”

Holmes quirks one side of his mouth up a bit sadly, “You’re probably right. After all, I never did expect to be anyone’s best friend before you.”

Their impromptu staring contest is interrupted by Lestrade entering the flat. With a deep sigh, Holmes reaches for the remote to pause the DVD once more, just as Sherlock is going through his notecards to figure out where to start his speech.

“At this rate, we’re never going to finish,” Holmes mutters angrily, but Watson merely shushes him.

“You two get married and not tell me about it?” Lestrade jokes, looking at the screen which has Sherlock and John centered in matching outfits, Mary and Janine on either side.

Holmes rolls his eyes, “Judging by your lack of shocked confusion, I gather that Anderson told you about the DVDs.”

“Yeah,” Lestrade nods, “I wanted to see it for myself, it sounded so unbelievable.”

“Well, it’s clearly real,” Holmes says impatiently, “Now if you’d kindly leave so we can get on with it…” he trails off pointedly, but Lestrade doesn’t take the bait.

“Actually, I really would like to watch a bit of it.”

“It’s not really _that_ interesting, more weird,” Watson says, “but pull one of the chairs over; you’re more than welcome to join us.”

“ _Is_ he?” Holmes whispers when Lestrade is across the room grabbing a chair.

“ _Yes_ ,” Watson stresses.

Truth is, Holmes is feeling as though Sherlock is rather showing their matching hand regarding their feelings towards John Watson, and he’s not certain he wants _Watson_ to even continue watching, much less someone else, as well. But he can’t communicate this, so he says nothing as Watson reaches to start the DVD again.

Sherlock begins his speech by pointing out everything that he deems to be wrong with the idea of marriage in general, and the look on John’s face clearly shows him contemplating if Mike or Greg _would_ have been a better choice for the role.

Lestrade laughs at how truly Holmesian of a speech it is until his likeness appears on the screen briefly. The oddity of the situation catches him off guard enough to sober him.

Sherlock continues by insulting John (his ordinary contrast to Sherlock’s own genius), the bridesmaids (brides choose mediocre looking women), the priest (the job of the family idiot), and then finally he insults himself by admitting that he is an unpleasant, rude, ignorant, and obnoxious asshole. So really, overall, so far so good.

**“So if I didn’t understand I was being asked to be best man, it is because I never expected to be anybody’s best friend.”**

The words echo those which Holmes had said before Lestrade entered the flat and the two men look at each other from the corners of their eyes briefly.

After the rocky start, Sherlock turns suddenly very serious about how truly wonderful a man John is and that Mary deserves him. The sentiment sends that familiar sense of unease through both Holmes and Watson’s stomachs, though they still can’t place why. By the end of this portion, everyone is in tears as Sherlock attempts to move on to funny stories about John.

Watson, with sudden clarity, sees that Sherlock is in love with John. For the first time, he allows himself to wonder if maybe that means Holmes feels the same for him as he’s been feeling for Holmes.

Holmes, on the other hand, grits his teeth in frustration at Sherlock’s transparency. He’s worked extremely hard to conceal his deep feelings for Watson over the years, and this alternate version of him may just be the one to finally give him away.

Lestrade rubs his face with his hands and announces, “Yeah, never mind; I can’t do this, it’s too weird,” and he stands from the chair.

Watson reaches the remote and pauses the DVD as John is hugging Sherlock.

“Did you need us for something?” Watson asks, similarly to what he asked Anderson upon his visit earlier.

“No, we figured out that murder Anderson mentioned to you. I really was just curious about these DVDs,” he says, then pauses in the doorway, “be careful with these; you have no idea how it may change things,” he says cryptically before walking down the stairs and leaving the building.

“Why do people keep saying that?” Watson asks, a flush rising on his cheeks born of the implication of the words.

“No idea,” Holmes lies, having a _very_ good idea what they mean.

After the hug and clapping end, Sherlock goes in to funny stories of his time with John, which consists mostly of John’s overly romanticized blog accounts of their adventures, and the stag night.

They flash through a number of their cases (The Hollow Client, The Poisoned Giant, the mysterious matchbox case, a generic love affair, and The Elephant in the Room) before Sherlock goes in to full detail of The Bloody Guardsman.

It begins with Sherlock helping John and Mary plan their seating arrangement and other decisions. The wall behind the couch has been converted from a Rat Map to all of the wedding details. John, meanwhile, is sitting in his chair trying to find an interesting enough case to pull Sherlock away. It’s not working. Sherlock pulls out examples of serviettes from beneath the couch and admits that he learned to do it on YouTube. Mary fakes a phone call to get John in to the kitchen.

Holmes finds himself once more wishing he could slap his alternate self. Honestly, could the man be any more bloody obvious about his feelings? He’s helping plan the entire wedding, worrying about details that the happy couple aren’t even concerned about, simply so that the day can be perfect for John. Holmes understands his thinking: if John has chosen to be with Mary - and not him - then he will do everything he can to make it a day worthy of the man. He would do anything for John to be happy after all that he’s put him through.

Mary demands that John run Sherlock so he knows that things won’t change between them once they’re married. John goes back in to the room and begs Sherlock to find an interesting case for them to work so that he isn’t driven crazy by these wedding details that he doesn’t care about. They agree on The Bloody Guardsman and Mary gives them both a thumbs up, having been working both boys to take the other out on a case.

It seems like a sweet move on her part, but it leaves a foul taste the mouths of Holmes and Watson.

The boys recognize the case from their own history. The murderer was testing out a discrete way to kill military officials for revenge, but they caught the man before he could kill - or _attempt_ to kill - anyone besides Bainbridge. It had been an interesting, exhaustive case that took them four days to solve, but they had managed it.

On a bench, as Sherlock and John wait for Bainbridge to come off duty, John asks Sherlock if he’d change anything about him being with Mary and Sherlock declines. Then John goes in to a touching speech about how much Sherlock has affected his life (which causes Watson to flush) only to find that the other man has walked off. John calls him a dickhead even though he can't hear him.

Back in the “present” after he’s walked through the case, Greg asks who had attacked Bainbridge and how, and Sherlock admits that they never figured it out.

“They never solved it?” Holmes asks with genuine confusion.

“Do you notice that the longer this goes on, the more different their lives become from ours?”

“Obviously, but what significance could not having solved it have? What difference does it make?”

“Maybe that killer is still at large?”

They’re pulled back to the screen when Sherlock is talking to Molly about how to not get completely vomitus during their stag night pub crawl.

“Is that…the Vitruvian man with my face on it?” Watson asks in shock.

Holmes closes his eyes and shakes his head slightly in disbelief, just adding this new development to his list of reasons to hate his alternate self; he’s been about as subtle as a hand grenade since his return. And yet John still doesn’t seem to notice, and even Watson isn’t quite certain.

“It would appear,” Holmes finally concedes.

Next thing they know, Sherlock is ordering two beers, to be served up in graduated cylinders. He hands John his and sits down, starting a timer on his phone. It appears to simply be the two of them, none of John’s other friends.

There could be any number of explanations for this, but Holmes reasons that there are only two likely culprits: 1. Like Holmes, Sherlock doesn’t care to spend any time – especially drinking – with anyone but John Watson or 2. Sherlock merely wants to spend time with John – just the two of them – one last time.

Maybe it’s a mixture of both.

The footage zooms through what appears to be eight separate locations where they drink and nearly get in to a physical altercation.

“Maybe we should have done something like that for _my_ stag party,” Watson muses, clearly entertained.

Holmes scoffs in derision, “No thank you; I rather enjoyed just staying in and doing a Bond marathon.”

“No you didn't,” Watson laughs.

Holmes smirks, “No, not really,” he admits, “but it was preferable to that,” he gestures to the telly just as the camera pans back to them lying on the stairs of Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson comes out of her flat and is surprised to see them.

“Did Sherlock just call her ‘Hudders’?” Watson laughs.

“Yes. I rather like that; maybe our Mrs. Hudson would let me switch to that nickname,” Holmes smiles.

“I don’t know that I’d try that with her,” he cautions.

“Perhaps not.”

Up in 221B, Sherlock and John are playing The Rizla Game: John has “Madonna” on his forehead and Sherlock has “Sherlock Holmes” on his own.

Throughout the back and forth, one of them will move forward as the other moves back, as though they require that no more than four feet be between them at all times. John, in describing Sherlock to himself, becomes increasingly amused and gives him what Holmes and Watson can both identify as his flirty smile. Neither one mentions it aloud.

Next thing they know, John leans too far forward in his chair and places his hand on Sherlock’s knee to lever himself back up. John looks at his hand for a moment before removing it and lifting it in a carefree motion.

**“I don’t mind.”  
Sherlock shrugs, as though agreeing with the sentiment.**

Both Holmes and Watson have similar shocked revelations where they wonder if John is _flirting_ with Sherlock. Again, however, neither one mentions it aloud.

The game goes downhill quickly after that when Sherlock admits that he doesn’t actually know who the person is on John’s head, even though he picked the name. Sherlock finishes out his side of the game, going through the information John gave him and deciding that he must have John’s name on his forehead.

Suddenly, Mrs. Hudson appears at the door with a client. Sherlock and John, as intoxicated as they are, keep dosing off on the couch as Tessa relays her story about having dinner with a ghost. She seems extremely unfazed by their lack of professionalism or consciousness. Bit odd, really.

Holmes is fascinated by this part because, much like most of this “episode” so far, this didn’t happen in their timeline. It’s very interesting, and he finds himself a bit disappointed not to have gotten to deal with it himself.

The trio makes their way to the flat in question, and Sherlock attempts to drunkenly deduce his surroundings.

“Let’s agree never to take a case while intoxicated, yeah?” Watson proposes.

“Gladly,” Holmes accepts eagerly, watching with distaste as Sherlock stumbles about a bit before falling to the floor to examine something, his arse raised in the air.

 _“Oh my God, is he **presenting** himself to John?” _is yet another shared thought that neither man dares to voice.

**“He’s cluing for looks.”**

“Sweet. Baby. Jesus,” Watson intones angrily, second-hand embarrassed once more by his alternate self.

Sherlock falls asleep on the floor as John falls asleep against a support pipe. Tessa calls Sherlock’s name (waking John) before the landlord bodily handles Sherlock in to a kneeling position. John instinctively moves to place himself between Sherlock and the landlord protectively.

Watson groans quietly as he places his right hand on his face and closes his eyes for a moment. Could John be any more obvious about his possessiveness of his best friend?

Sherlock is doing a convincing job pretending to be his typically bossy self, but vomits before he can finish the sentence.

 **“Crime scene!”** John finishes for him, raising a hand for a high five that he quickly corrects himself on with a shake of his head.

Next thing they know, Sherlock and John are being woken up by Greg in a holding cell. They gather their belongings and leave the police station to return to 221B. John goes down to visit with Mrs. Hudson (who makes him a full English breakfast that he can’t bring himself to eat due to his hangover) as Sherlock researches Sholto on his laptop upstairs. She goes in to her familiar speech about marriage changing people and situations, saying how wonderful it is but then almost immediately discrediting herself by mentioning how relieved she was when her husband was sentenced to death. John hears Sherlock make noise upstairs and excuses himself from the conversation.

Sherlock quickly closes the browser window about Sholto when John enters the flat, then begins telling him about IDatedAGhost.com. Sherlock enters a section of his Mind Palace that represents a government chamber for official business, women standing all around. He quickly goes through and narrows the group down to only four. He asks them a series of questions, trying to find a connection, but it’s not readily apparent.

John appears in the scene, pulling Sherlock out of his mind and back in to the flat with him by scolding him about letting his food go cold. Sherlock brushes off his concern – nicely – and immediately reenters his Mind Palace, though he appears to be chatting with each woman on a different laptop in the flat. He makes the connection that it must be the same man and that he’s using the obituaries to take on the identity of recently deceased men. He deduces that the so-called mayfly man was simply thinking of an ingenious way to play the field as a form of entertainment.

Back to the “present”, Sherlock gets the cue from Mary that his train of thought has crossed over in to the territory of Not Good and attempts to wrap up the speech.

**“I will solve your murder, but it takes John Watson to save your life.”**

“God,” Holmes breathes out as realization dawns, “he’s absolutely right.”

“Please, you save plenty of lives,” Watson scoffs, uncomfortable about the praise.

“No, throughout the years you have most certainly sensitized me to caring about the victims and clients at least to the same degree that I care about solving the crime.”

Watson’s chest swells with pride and affection, but he can’t think of a single thing to say.

As Sherlock's speech comes to a close, something clicks in his brain as important, but he can’t quite place what it is. What transpires is a lot of back and forth for Sherlock between being present in the room and retreating in to his Mind Palace to be able to think. He knows someone will die – narrows down that it will assuredly be Sholto. Sherlock attempts to distract the crowd yet further as he continues to try to figure out who the murderer is, but it’s not until young Archie connects The Bloody Guardsman to the Mayfly Man that it all comes together.

Sherlock, John, and Mary follow Sholto to his room where Sherlock shouts through the door that he’s not safe in there. Sherlock doesn’t know how the killer does it, but Sholto demands that he figure it out before he’ll open the door.

Holmes lets out an audible “Oh!” as he understands exactly how much of a difference it made that the killer was not caught just a few days after The Bloody Guardsman case like he had been in their own timeline. That same man who had been practicing to attack military officials later, having not been caught, was given opportunity to act on his plan.

Sherlock figures it out and relays the message to Sholto that he was already stabbed hours ago through his belt. Sholto is ready to remove his belt and let fate take its course, but Sherlock stops him.

 **“Mr. Holmes, you and I are similar, I think.”**  
**“Yes, I think we are.”  
** **“There’s a proper time to die, isn’t there?”**  
 **“Of course there is.”**  
 **“And one should embrace it when it comes. Like a soldier.”**  
 **“Of course one should, but not at John’s wedding! We wouldn’t do that, would we, you and me? We would never do that to John Watson.”**

“No, can’t _actually_ die at John’s wedding, but it’s perfectly fine to make him watch you fake your own death, eh Sherlock?” Holmes chimes in sarcastically.

Watson is stunned in to laughing, caught completely off guard by the affronted tone and his scolding of – essentially – himself.

Sholto opens the door and allows the trio to enter the room and save his life instead.

Later, Sherlock and Janine practice dancing. She’s still attempting to flirt with him a bit, but he’s still politely turning her down. John joins them, joking about Sherlock pulling with Janine, even with an attempted murder at the reception. Greg enters, leading the photographer back in to the building. It is revealed that the photographer was the killer, and then they make their way in to the dance hall as Greg arrests him.

Sherlock is playing the violin piece from the beginning of the “episode” that he wrote for John and Mary. He makes another impromptu speech pledging to always be there for the couple and ending on an unexpected deduction about Mary being pregnant. He cues the DJ for the music to start and goes down to talk to the pair.

“Pregnant,” Watson breathes in disbelief.

“Well, _that’s_ certainly different,” Holmes points out, chest aching for Sherlock, knowing how foolish Sherlock's feelings for John seem with this new information brought to light.

Sherlock and John lock gazes, both frightened by the change that this will bring. They could easily pretend that the marriage wasn’t going to change their friendship, but a baby? They can’t deny the change about to occur in their lives any longer. They look away from each other and Sherlock’s (forced) smile falls in to a look of uncertainty and abandonment.

Sherlock sends them away to dance. He glances around the room for any group to join, but he doesn’t belong anywhere anymore. He grabs his coat and leaves the wedding early.

Watson’s stomach drops to see the look on Sherlock’s face as he walks away. It’s subtle, but Watson has known Sherlock Holmes for long enough to see the pain there…how lost and listless he appears. He’s unspeakably glad that he never put Holmes through this. Did he? He looks over at his friend and sees an empathetic, calculating look on his face.

He wants to take his hand and reassure Holmes that that isn’t them. That there is no Mary or baby standing between them. That, in the end, the fact that he begged Holmes to not be dead and not his wife means that he chose _him_ over her. He loved Mary, yes, but Holmes is the one he wants to share the rest of life’s adventures with.

“Hmm,” Holmes hums, sucking on his teeth in thought.

“Yeah,” Watson agrees simply.

It’s not until they’ve been returned back to the main menu that Holmes stands up to switch discs for the last time.


	10. His Last Vow

Holmes looks at Watson, remote in his hand, “This appears to be the last one. Are you ready?”

“Oh God, yes,” Watson says, “Let’s quench the curiosity and be done with it.”

“It has been a bit weird, hasn’t it?”

“More than weird: unnerving, even.”

Holmes nods and presses play.

Lady Smallwood is leading a panel in questioning Magnussen.

Holmes practically hisses as he sees Magnussen; the man still gives him the creeps and he detests the way he prayed on people.

The panel asks him about his involvement with the British Prime Minister and he claims not to have had any untoward dealings with him. When Magnussen looks at people, he sees bullet points of information about the person, including their pressure point.

“How…?” Watson starts, but doesn’t finish.

“No idea how Moriarty knew what Magnussen saw when he looked at people. As we both are aware, Magnussen simply _knew_ the information, it wasn’t pulled up for him like a computer. At least in _our_ dimension,” he adds as a near afterthought.

Magnussen returns to his home, down in to what appears to be an archive, and finds Lady Smallwood’s file. After refreshing his memory, he finds her in her office and threatens to release the letters that her husband wrote to an underage girl. Magnussen licks her face (to prove that he can) and both Holmes and Watson shudder. Lady Smallwood, on her way home, decides abruptly to seek the assistance of Sherlock Holmes to end the blackmail on her.

After the opening credits, the screen shows John and Mary asleep in their bed, what appears to be John’s dream on display. Watson wonders how Moriarty knew what John was dreaming about, but knows that not only did Moriarty most likely make it up, but that it’s also pointless to ask the question aloud.

John wakes to knocking on the door. One of their neighbors’ sons with a drug habit has gone missing. John offers to go retrieve him and Mary insists on coming along – pregnant or not. They arrive at the crack den and John places a tire iron down his trousers.

“Does John seem a bit more hot headed and impulsive than usual to you?” Holmes asks.

“Yeah,” Watson agrees, “and no, I don’t understand why, since this never happened to me, as you are well aware.”

John storms in to the building and takes down Bill Wiggins – whom Holmes and Watson recognize from the homeless network – spraining his arm in the process. He heads upstairs with purpose and finds Isaac (the son he came looking for) and also, quite unexpectedly, Sherlock.

“He went back to using?” Watson fumes.

“He says it’s for a case,” Holmes defends.

“Bullshit!” Watson spits, “One month unsupervised and…” he stops, brow furrowing in confusion, his anger dissipating completely, “they haven’t seen each other for a _month_?”

“Apparently,” he agrees quietly, “which helps explain it,” Watson looks at him quizzically, so he begrudgingly continues, “it’s difficult to describe succinctly, but it comes down to this: Sherlock Holmes’ life prior to John Watson dealt a lot with drug use, so, with John being swept away from him again, it probably felt natural for Sherlock to fall back in to his old routines pre-John.”

Watson flounders for a moment, trying to comprehend the sentiment in the statement, “Did you go back to using after I got married?”

Holmes’ mouth turns down resolutely as he shakes his head, “No. As we’ve previously compared, your wife didn’t keep us apart as this Mary seems to have. We still saw each other fairly regularly and that was enough for me,” he lies. It wasn’t ever truly enough. He always missed Watson terribly between cases, but when he would feel the itch for drugs, he’d simply go find his friend again instead.

Sherlock, John, Mary, Isaac, and Wiggins make their way to St. Bart’s so that Molly can perform a drug test on Sherlock to see if he really did partake in drug use. She slaps him when it’s proven that he has.

John tells Sherlock that he should have contacted him, yet the detective keeps insisting it was for a case as well as deducing that John has started cycling to work. Wiggins makes a comment about how “some guy” hit him, John says it was probably some addict in need of a fix, and Sherlock – quickly deducing that it was John who sprained the arm – agrees that in a way it was.

Wiggins moves on to deducing further about John’s cycling to work by noticing that his shirt has creases, as though it’s been folded.

**“You keep your shirts folded, ready to pack.”**

Watson’s stomach drops. John is bored, missing the adventurous life he had before Mary. The life he had with Sherlock. It’s odd to think about how you – in a different dimension – can have such a drastically different life based on a few timeline changes.

Mary takes Wiggins and Isaac home while John takes Sherlock. They arrive to find Mycroft leading Anderson and a woman in searching the flat for drugs. Sherlock curls up in his chair and John notes the absence of his own.

**“Yeah, you were gone, I saw an opportunity.”  
“No, you saw the kitchen.”**

It’s Holmes’ stomach that drops this time. Sherlock couldn’t even stand to look at the piece of furniture that John had claimed as his. He’s been so desolate, he’s been in denial, he’s…heartbroken.

Mycroft goes to enter Sherlock’s room, but Sherlock stops him suddenly. Mycroft steps away, taking it as an admittance of guilt, and mentions needing to contact their parents regarding the issue. Sherlock insists – yet again – that the drug use was for a case and when Mycroft seeks clarification, he mutters “Magnussen” leading the elder Holmes to threaten Anderson and the woman that if they mentioned ever hearing it, they would live to regret it. Mycroft attempts to warn him not to go after the man, but Sherlock merely sees him out of the flat, twisting his arm and causing John to step in to separate the two.

Sherlock moves to take a bath, calling to John not to go in his room. So of course John moves towards his room as soon as the water starts. Janine comes out in nothing but a button-down shirt, calling Mycroft “Mike”, Sherlock “Sherl”, and telling him that things have been rearranged since he moved out.

John’s unease and jealousy are practically palpable, and Watson isn’t doing much better while watching it. John attempts to play it cool and stay calm as he questions Sherlock about his girlfriend, but his eyes have always been obnoxiously easy to read, and this close up the act is impossible for either Holmes or Watson to miss. Sherlock keeps trying to talk to John about Magnussen and the case, but John is incapable of moving on from the girlfriend thing. Janine comes out, sits on Sherlock’s lap, and flirts with him before inviting John over for dinner and kissing him before leaving for work. The look on John’s face, when Sherlock can’t see him, says everything.

“He’s jealous,” Holmes states conversationally.

“He’s not jealous, he’s unsettled,” Watson negates, though it’s not true.

“No he’s not,” Holmes states with an edge of amusement, “unsettled about _what_?”

“Seeing Mr. Sherlock ‘Married to my work’ and ‘Girlfriends aren’t really my area’ Holmes _kissing_ someone!”

Holmes stares at him calculatingly, as though putting pieces together.

“No, stop it right now,” Watson orders him, looking away so Holmes can no longer look in his telling eyes.

“Stop what?”

“Deducing me! There’s nothing to deduce!”

“Then why are you so worked up?”

“I’m not!” He practically shouts, then closes his eyes to calm himself down.

“Yes, perfectly calm, I see it now,” Holmes agrees sarcastically.

On screen, Sherlock is again attempting to talk to John about the case, but the shorter man can’t think of anything else besides him being in a relationship. He’s hung up on it.

Magnussen comes to the flat to discuss business. His henchmen frisk Sherlock and John, discovering the tire lever still in John’s trousers.

“Are we supposed to believe that John has gone this long, sitting down in _two cars_ plus sitting on a sofa, and just _forgot_ he had a bloody metal pipe down his trousers?”

“Yes,” Holmes says, fighting a smirk.

“How? No one could not notice that!”

In lieu of an answer, Holmes merely looks from Watson’s eyes, pointedly down at his groin, then back up to hold his gaze challengingly.

Watson flushes deeply, “Bloody hell, stop it.” The idea that Holmes has ever considered what the size of his penis might be is absurd…and a bit arousing.

Holmes merely smiles as he obligingly says nothing more and turns back towards the telly.

Magnussen pees in their fireplace, refusing to work with the genius. He leaves the flat and Sherlock goes in to a bout of deductions about how the letters must be here in London, then leaves to do some shopping.

Holmes is eager to see how Sherlock infiltrates Magnussen’s estate, especially now that the blackmailer knows what he looks like. When they had dealt with Magnussen in their own timeline – a mere six months previous – he had disguised himself as a plumber to gain access to his home, and became engaged to the housemaid to gain information. He assumes, as things have been matching up generally, that Sherlock is about to propose to Janine for this same all-around purpose.

John walks in to an expansive building and meets Sherlock. They discuss how to gain access: corrupting a key card and then having Magnussen’s personal assistant let them in. The personal assistant just so happens to be Janine, and he does, indeed, propose to her to get her to allow them upstairs.

The look on John’s face when he sees the ring is beyond words. The look is an actual feeling inside both Holmes and Watson’s chests instead. It’s crushing.

On the lift ride up to the office, John is furious with Sherlock for getting fake-engaged to gain access to an office, much like Watson had been with Holmes when he found out likewise. The fact that Sherlock Holmes can so flippantly exploit people’s feelings for him is one of the major reasons John Watson has tried so very hard to keep his romantic inclinations hidden.

They discover that Janine has passed out (Sherlock briefly entertains the ridiculous idea that she fainted from the sheer joy of his proposal) as well as one of the security guards. Sherlock smells Clair-de-la-Lune and knows that the attacker – must be Lady Smallwood – is still in the building. He leaves John with Janine and continues upstairs.

Sherlock confronts the attacker and Magnussen corrects him: it’s not Lady Smallwood. She turns and, inexplicably, Mary is standing in front of him, aiming a gun at his chest.

Watson gasps in shock and Holmes mutters, “Oh my God.”

Sherlock, for the first time in his memory, stutters. He was so intent on John being happy – that this woman _makes_ him happy – that he ignored the signs.

“I knew it,” Watson proclaims quietly, a mix of vindication and betrayal in his tone. While this woman is clearly not the embodiment of his wife, the fact that _any_ dimension version of her would do this makes him feel a bit ill.

Sherlock attempts to continue to trust in her goodness, unwilling to believe that he could have been so far off base – so _blinded_ – when it came to her true nature. She shoots him, and things go a bit weird.

This is another part that Moriarty must have taken cinematic liberties with, for how could he have possibly known what went on in Sherlock’s mind here?

Molly appears in the room, asking him questions about which way to fall. Is the bullet still in him? How would he know? Anderson asks him what type of gun it was. Mycroft appears and belittles his lesser mind wasting time: the mirror would have shattered if it had left his body, and it didn’t. He falls backwards.

Next Sherlock needs to avoid going in to shock: find something calming. He looks for John and instead finds Mary, in her wedding dress, aiming a gun at him. If he can’t access John, what else is there that could calm him? Redbeard. He finds the dog and talks to him ( **“They’re putting me down, too, now. It’s no fun, is it?”** )

Watson’s hand blindly reaches towards Holmes, his left hand landing on his right knee and grabbing tight.

Now that shock is taken care of, Molly tells him that he needs to control the bleeding. He doesn’t know how to go about doing that from inside his Mind Palace; it’s not like he can cauterize an actual wound from in there. Instead, he finds Moriarty chained in a padded cell. He scares Sherlock, who falls to the floor and begins to give up. Moriarty talks about how all negative emotions are good. Just feel them.

John discovers Sherlock and Magnussen tells him that he was shot. John calls emergency.

Moriarty sings him a song in his head as John rides with him in the back of the ambulance to the hospital.

Moriarty goes on about how much Sherlock is going to enjoy being dead - how wonderful it is – but that people will miss him.

**“Mrs. Hudson will cry. And Mummy and Daddy will cry. And the woman will cry. And John will cry buckets and buckets. It’s him I worry about. That wife…you’re letting him down, Sherlock. John Watson is definitely in danger.”**

And with that last sentence, Sherlock’s eyes open again. With incredible resolve, he rises from the floor – the monitors in the real world responding – and climbs back up the stairs. Sherlock wakes up.

“Did Sherlock just…” Watson starts in awe without turning from the screen, but can’t finish.

“Restart his own heart? It would appear so.”

Watson turns from the image of Mary rushing in to the hospital to instead look at his friend, “Because John was in danger,” he states, the only question in the statement being born from his own insecurity about why that would be.

When Holmes turns his head to lock eyes with him, the look within them is incredibly vulnerable and sad, “Yes,” he whispers.

Watson opens his mouth to say something before he’s even formulated the words, but closes it again when he watches Holmes’ eyes drift to his mouth with undisguised longing. And he knows, as though he just plunged head-first across a threshold of revelation, that not only does Holmes return his love, but that the mere thought that he – even a different dimension version of himself – nearly lost John Watson and let him down is unbearable. Unthinkable.

And despite what he just saw on screen, Watson’s heart swells and he smiles. Holmes’ eyes make their way back to his from his lips with confusion. Then it’s Holmes’ turn to experience the revelation that Watson loves him in return. His eyes have never been good at hiding anything, but right now it appears that Watson isn’t even _attempting_ to mask his affection.

The moment is broken as they hear Mary’s voice from the telly, drawing both of their attentions back to the screen.

**“Look at me and tell me you’re not going to tell him.”**

Flashes of newspaper covers about “Shag-a-lot Holmes” “7 Times a Night in Baker Street” “He Made me Wear the Hat”. Janine has been exploiting their relationship by telling the tabloids that they shagged like bunnies. It comes out that they never even got close to that ever happening. Sherlock turns his morphine tap back down when he realizes that Mary is near, not able to trust his mind to drugs around her. In his Mind Palace, he attempts to figure her out.

John brings Greg up to the hospital room, but they discover that he’s gone missing. John and Greg involve Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson in a desperate attempt to locate him, while Mary questions the less usual suspects for clues (Anderson and his woman friend). Molly comes on screen and admits that Sherlock has been staying with her.

In 221B, John’s chair has been placed back in its spot, a bottle of Claire-de-la-Lune on the table next to it.

**“He’s Sherlock. Who would he bother protecting?”**

“He was trying so hard to give John the clues he needed to piece it together himself, so he wouldn’t need to spell out every last detail and hurt him,” Holmes marvels at his counter-part’s sentimentality.

Sherlock calls John and brings him out to Leinster Gardens, where Mary discovers Wiggins with a cell phone. She goes inside the building.

Sherlock talks her through his deductions about her past; where Mary Morstan came from, realizing all the signs he overlooked as they came up. He asks her how good a shot she is, she threatens to shoot him again, but throws a coin in the air and shoots that instead. Sherlock appears from behind her, the other end of the tiny hallway from the shadowed figure she had been addressing.

“Did he just _forgive_ her?” Watson fumes once more.

Holmes considers for a moment, “He still thinks that she’s what makes John happy.”

“How? How could he consider for one _second_ that John could still want someone who tried to kill you?”

“Sherlock, you mean,” Holmes corrects.

Watson grunts, remembering that they _are_ different, “Right.”

Sherlock turns on the lights to reveal that it wasn’t a dummy at the end of the hallway, but John. The look on John’s face is a mirror of what Watson’s has been for a long time.

Fast forward to Christmas at the Holmes residence. Mummy bickers with Mycroft about being happy that they’re all together, especially after someone tried to murder her little boy.

Holmes and Watson had celebrated the most recent Christmas with his parents as this depicts, but there was no Wiggins or Mary. It was a very pleasant affair until Holmes had dragged them off to finish with the Magnussen case that evening.

Mummy brings Mary her tea and then Mary and Father have a touching, soft conversation. John comes in the room and Mary becomes very awkward, then Father leaves them alone. John is aggravated.

Flashback to Leinster Gardens, where Sherlock demands them back to Baker Street. John storms in first, fit to burst, then Mary and - much slower and paler - Sherlock.

“Is he alright?” Watson forgets his anger in an instant, concern taking over.

“He _did_ just recently break out of hospital against doctor’s orders after being shot in the chest. So probably not.”

Mrs. Hudson fusses over the trio until Sherlock growls at her ( **“Then what exactly is the point of you?”** ). John asks if everyone he’s ever met has been a psychopath and Sherlock tells him yes, trying to move on quickly. John stops him, blowing up at the joking tone. Sherlock assures him that he isn’t joking: John is attracted to danger and gets bored with the mundane just as easily as Sherlock does.

Sherlock leads John to seeing Mary as a client (skipping over “My lying wife” and “The woman who’s carrying my child who has lied to me since the day I met her”). The look on John’s face is completely manic as he assumes his natural role as assistant to Sherlock - only, for the first time ever, John’s empathy for the client is less than Sherlock’s.

**“That’s all you are now, Mary: a client. This is where you sit and talk, and this is where we sit and listen. Then we decide if we want you or not.”**

Holmes and Watson both feel their stomaches clench at the words. This never happened with their Mary…most none of what she’s done ever did. Theirs was nice and genuine, and the fact that she died and this version has lived? It’s unjust.

Back to the Holmes residence at Christmas, Mary snarks at John about actually talking to her today, the first time in months. He pulls out a flash drive with the initials A.G.R.A on it.

“Agra? But wasn’t that…” Watson starts, but Holmes finishes.

“The name of the treasure we were attempting to help Mary locate, on the case where we met her.”

“So what’s…?”

Holmes sighs heavily, “You _know_ I have no idea,” he says as gently as possible.

Back to 221B where Mary places the flash drive down next to John for the first time. Mary reveals that A.G.R.A are her initials and John’s face contorts in to a look that is so done. She says her whole history is on the stick and asks John not to read it in front of her, because he won’t love her when he’s finished. He places it in his pocket with a huff.

Sherlock details through what he already knows of her history: former intelligence agent, not English, on the run from something, Magnussen knows her secrets, and she befriended Janine solely to get closer to her blackmailer. She insists that Magnussen should be killed, and John wonders aloud how he didn’t see that she was an assassin. She argues that he did, but married her anyway.

“No,” Watson shakes his head resolutely, “There’s a difference between thrill seeking and choosing to love a hired killer.”

“She doesn’t quite know him as well as she thinks she does,” Holmes agrees, “She’s close but…there’s too many generalities and assumptions.”

Sherlock walks through what Mary hopes to get from Magnussen and she asks why he’ll help.

**“Because you saved my life.”**

“Oh, that’s just brilliant,” Watson fumes again, nearly as enraged as John.

Sherlock goes on to explain how she chose to wound him and knock out Magnussen instead of killing them both and making it appear as though John had done it. She phoned for the ambulance after walking out, ensuring that it would get to him in time.

As if on cue, an ambulance crew enters 221B just as Sherlock begins to go in to cardiac distress from his internal bleeding. Sherlock insists to John that they can trust Mary. As he falls, John’s entire focus is on his best friend, possibly dying before him for a third time. Then he glares at Mary.

Back to Christmas, a heavily pregnant Mary stands from the couch and John gives a speech about how the problems of her past are her business, but the problems of her future are his privilege.

“Oh my God, is he going to frame her? Kill her?” Watson asks, reading the face that makes expressions so very much like his own, his mouth forming words in a cryptic way that he himself employs.

“Not while she’s still pregnant,” Holmes reasons.

“No, of course not,” he looks towards the side of Holmes’ face, “but in the future.”

Holmes turns and locks eyes with him sadly, “Maybe,” he whispers.

John and Mary exchange words of settlement and John has a face - when she can’t see him - that clearly speaks of discontent.

Sherlock and Mycroft are outside the house smoking. They discuss why Sherlock hates Magnussen (praying on the weird and different), an offer with MI6 (that would prove to be fatal within about six months) that Mycroft wants him to turn down, and then an uncharacteristic declaration of brotherly affection.

Back inside, John and Mary hug again before she goes limp in his arms. John helps her to the chair with uncertainty. Sherlock pops his head in and instructs John not to drink her tea. John quickly realizes that Sherlock has drugged the entire household but them and Wiggins.

Flashback to Sherlock in a restaurant, wearing his hospital gown and still attached to a drip. Magnussen comes in and Sherlock strikes a deal with him: his brother (well, his laptop, anyway) in exchange for an invitation to Appledore. Sherlock takes his glasses, thinking the information about people shows on the lenses, like a computer.

“It isn’t the glasses?” Holmes asks, thrown. Their Magnussen clearly wasn’t using anything of the sort, just recalling information at will, but this version was slimier about it that he thought he may have used a different tactic.

Back to John and Sherlock in the house, they prepare to head out and meet Magnussen for the exchange via helicopter. Sherlock iterates how dangerous this plan is, how dangerous Magnussen is, before they head out.

 **“Did you bring your gun as I suggested?”**  
**“Why would I bring my gun to your parents’ house for Christmas dinner?”  
** **“Is it in your coat?”**  
 **“Yes.”**  
 **“Off we go, then.”**

Holmes and Watson both laugh, having forgot that the exchange had happened between them. They both thought it summed up their friendship quite adequately.

Magnussen is in his home, watching the taping of the bonfire that John had been trapped in just over a year ago. Sherlock voices the connection that Magnussen had been behind the attack on John while John is entranced by the screen.

**“But look how you care about John Watson. Your damsel in distress.”**

John appears not to have heard (or maybe just not care about) the terminology used to describe him just then, but Watson is affronted for his alternate self. John Watson is no one’s damsel in distress; he was a soldier, for crying out loud!

Magnussen tells them that the end goal had been to get at Mycroft, whose pressure point is Sherlock, whose pressure point is John, whose pressure point is Mary. Sherlock hands over the computer, but refuses to give the password until he’s gotten all physical evidence the blackmailer has against Mary.

Holmes and Watson both have their brows creased in confusion. In their timeline, they had snuck in to the house thanks to the housemaid (Holmes’ fiancée) and had gotten in to the study. However, before they could find the letters he was using to blackmail Lady Smallwood with, Magnussen had returned with a woman. They didn’t have any direct dealings with Magnussen that night.

Magnussen leads Sherlock and John to a closet and opens it. At first they’re confused, but then he reveals that Appledore is the name of his Mind Palace; he has no physical records of anything that’s in his head, just an intricate system to remember everything. Sherlock and John begin to realize that they have just committed high treason and there is no foreseeable way out.

They go on to the balcony, where Magnussen insists on flicking John in the face (as a demonstration on how blackmail works) until Mycroft and backup arrive. Sherlock clarifies that there are no physical records, to which Magnussen agrees, and then Sherlock steals the gun from John’s coat and shoots him in the head.

**“Christ, Sherlock!”**

John says it at the same time Watson says “Jesus Christ!”

What a mess. In their timeline, the woman in the study had exacted her revenge for her blackmailed husband by shooting Magnussen. Not Holmes. They hadn’t interceded because, as Holmes had put it, it wasn’t any of their business to judge her for taking her revenge.

Holmes’ stomach knots, uncertain how Sherlock is planning to escape this one. But he also knows that Sherlock didn’t take the time to make a plan; all he could think about was keeping John safe again, by whatever means necessary, even if it meant being put to death himself. One of these days, Sherlock Holmes may truly die for John Watson as he has already repeatedly attempted to do.

**“Give my love to Mary. Tell her she’s safe now.”**

The look on John’s face is a clear depiction of how stupid he deems Sherlock to be in this moment, sacrificing himself for her. It’s not her that he wants to be safe; it’s _him_. The idiot.

Sherlock’s eyes are dead, certain now that he’s guaranteed that John will never be his. He’s made it possible for John to keep Mary, as he’s previously chosen. It doesn’t really cross his mind that the choice may have actually changed in light of recent events. His love for John never wavers, so why would John’s for Mary?

Mycroft is shown talking to some colleagues – members of the same council who questioned Magnussen at the beginning – and convinces them that sending Sherlock on the MI6 mission (which he had just recently asked him to refuse) would be the best course of action.

**“If this is some expression of familial sentiment…”  
“Don’t be absurd. I’m not given to outbursts of brotherly compassion. You know what happened to the other one.”**

“ _What_ other one?” Watson asks Holmes, “Do you… _did you_ …have another brother?”

Holmes looks from the screen and towards his friend in confusion, “No.”

With matching looks of confused trepidation, they turn back to the screen. This is, of course, all new to them as it didn’t happen in their timeline.

Sherlock, Mycroft, and a bodyguard are standing beside a plane as a car pulls up. Mary and John get out of the vehicle, and Mary makes it to Sherlock first. She gives him a kiss on the cheek and promises to keep John in trouble.

“The hell is her problem?” Watson grumbles, “Hasn’t she caused him enough trouble?”

**“That’s my girl.”**

“It’s what he likes,” Holmes echoes the earlier conversation.

Watson makes a discontent noise in the back of his throat.

**“Since this is likely to be the last conversation I’ll have with John Watson, would you mind if we took a moment?”**

“Oh God,” Watson breathes.

“Indeed,” Holmes whispers in return.

Mycroft, Mary, and the bodyguard walk away, leaving the two standing awkwardly, unsure what to say to each other. Sherlock tells John his entire name, incase John is looking for baby names. John swears they’re not naming their baby girl after him.

**“The game is over.”  
“The game is never over, John. But there may be some new players now.”**

Watson reaches out and grabs Holmes’ right hand in his left without thinking. Holmes squeezes it reassuringly; he’s not going anywhere.

Sherlock tells the story about the East Wind that Mycroft used to tell him as a boy.

Holmes laughs, “I’m glad to see that he’s a rubbish big brother in other dimensions, as well.”

John asks what his plans are and Sherlock says he’s going undercover, should take about six months.

**“And then what?”  
“Who knows?”**

“He’s not even going to tell him he’s leaving on what is most likely a suicide mission?” Watson asks, angry once again. He can’t help it: this version of Sherlock is utterly infuriating. He thought Holmes was bad, but he could clearly be worse.

Holmes doesn’t answer, because he’s entranced by the body language on the screen. He can feel the tension building up.

**“John, there’s something I should say, I’ve meant to say always and I never have. Since it’s unlikely we’ll ever meet again, I might as well say it now…”**

Sherlock pauses, unable to look at John, and Holmes gasps, “Oh my God.” He can hear the next words bouncing around in his head: _‘I love you’_. His hand naturally grips Watson’s tighter without realizing.

Sherlock breathes in deeply and locks eyes with John.

**“Sherlock is actually a girl’s name.”**

John turns away briefly, laughing, and Sherlock gives him a subdued smile in return.

Holmes is frustrated by his cowardice, but, at the same time he understands it. He doesn’t want their last interaction to be a bitter-sweet parting of what-might-have-been and I’ll-miss-you and please-don’t-go. He wants the last memory each has of the other to be of laughter, and each other’s smiles.

They shake hands, John appearing as though he wants to renounce the hand and hug him instead, but he refrains. Sherlock walks away.

Watson growls low in his throat, hand tightening on Holmes’ once more, “That’s it?” His face is set in an angry line, eyes looking betrayed.

“For them, maybe,” Holmes tells him softly, looking him in the eye honestly, not able to keep his true feelings out of his gaze with Watson so clearly upset by the denial of the declaration of love John Watson so deserves from Sherlock Holmes.

“Sherlock still doesn’t understand John at all, does he?” Watson begins to rant emphatically, “There _is_ no life worth living without him, so he needs to stop acting the hero! No more running away, no more sacrificing yourself for me, no more being noble because you aren’t noble with anyone else so why when it comes to me, you arse…”

His tirade is cut off suddenly by Holmes’ lips covering his own, his hands framing his face tenderly. Watson melts in to the kiss, unaware how much he _needed_ it.

Holmes pulls away just enough to separate their mouths, foreheads resting against each other’s, and whispers, “No, no more running. Not unless you’re following.”

“Promise me,” Watson begs.

“I promise,” he swears before pulling back far enough to look in to his eyes. The love and adoration he sees in John’s eyes are warring with insecurity. He can’t have that, “I have never loved another the way that I love you,” he admits.

Watson smiles widely, “Of course I love you, too. It’s always been you.”

They share another kiss, not even noticing that Moriarty reappears on the screen or the fact that the end credits are rolling.

“Watson?” Holmes asks gently as he pulls away again, his hands falling from his face.

“Yes?”

“I emphatically insist that the beard really  _must_ go,” he smirks.

“Later,” he promises with a mischievous glint in his eye, “I’d rather like to see if I can give you some stubble burn first.”

Holmes’ eyes light up, “Like an experiment?”

Watson laughs as it’s his turn to frame the other’s face tenderly in his hands, “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Yes,” Holmes agrees with a content smile on his face, “I am.”

They laugh as Watson pulls him in for another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! What a ride! If you followed it to the end (or found it once completed and read it straight through) I thank you, and I hope you enjoyed reading it because I had a fun (long) time writing it. I'd love to hear what you thought via kudos, comment, or constructive criticism.
> 
> As mentioned at the beginning, this was a request fic, which I'm willing to entertain doing again. So if you've got an idea (or just a trope you really love that I haven't touched yet), feel free to message me or find me on Tumblr!

**Author's Note:**

> I love comments and kudos, but welcome constructive criticism, as well.
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/goddess-of-the-night04) for an easy way to keep up with any new stories from me or just to chat; I'd love hear from you :)


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